


All Along the Watchtower

by mydeira, Sadbhyl



Series: Responsible Adults (aka, The Menageaverse) [21]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-04
Updated: 2012-06-04
Packaged: 2017-11-06 20:25:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 25,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/422842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mydeira/pseuds/mydeira, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sadbhyl/pseuds/Sadbhyl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joyce is sick.  Something is killing her slowly, and the men in her life are desperate to save her.  But can they learn the truth before it's too late?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. There’s Too Much Confusion

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place several weeks after the events of Said the Joker to the Thief and Comfort, and in place of several episodes of S5. Chapter titles come from the song All Along the Watchtower.
> 
> Written by Sadbhyl, beta'd by Mydeira

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Giles explores Joyce's illness himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place before the episode Fool For Love.

Giles sat on the couch, toying gently with Joyce’s hair as she slept easily against his chest. With the Beast still out there, Buffy didn’t feel comfortable leaving her mother and her sister home alone, so she had asked him to come stay with them while she patrolled. He’d been more than willing to agree, and not for any prurient reasons. She didn’t want to say anything to Buffy, didn’t want to worry her, but Joyce was getting worse. The headaches were coming more often now, leaving her weak and wrung out. She’d stopped going to work, leaving the responsibility for the gallery on her assistant’s shoulders. Even the normally immaculately kept house was starting to decline in subtle ways. So Giles was glad to come over and pick up the slack, making Joyce rest as he worked on threat of telling Buffy how serious things really were. He had similar leverage over Buffy, keeping her in classes and patrolling to prevent him telling Joyce that her illness was magically based.

He was beginning to think he was learning how to manipulate the Summers women almost as well as they manipulated him.

But now he was finished, and Joyce had insisted that he sit on the couch with her, just sharing his strength and warmth as he held her. It hadn’t taken long for her to drift off into easy sleep.

At least he could do this much for her. He wasn’t getting very far finding her a cure. His research on the sigil Buffy had seen had turned up nothing. No mystical orders used it, nor any secret societies or cults that he could rind reference to. He had even pulled some of his old connections at the Council, but hadn’t turned up anything. Meanwhile, day-by-day, Joyce declined a little bit further.

There was one avenue left that he hadn’t pursued.

Joyce was sleeping heavily, her breath slow and even. He relaxed, let his breathing slow to match hers, and gradually dropped into trance, allowing his third eye to open and see what his physical eyes couldn’t.

Now that he knew what to look for, he could see the sigil plainly, the fist fiercely clenched, although he could sense the eye watching him. It was sickly green in color, and her head was wreathed in flame the same repugnant shade. Buffy hadn’t mentioned seeing this. Maybe it was a sign of the progression of Joyce’s illness.

He went back to the sigil, studying it, feeling around its edges. Finally he found it, a small skip in his touch along the covered index finger. He shifted his focus in on this area, like shifting from a national map to a regional one, and studied it more closely. What he found was a very fine filament, a strand of energy feeding the sigil. He allowed his consciousness to flow into this strand, chasing it back, searching for its point of origin. As he moved, it began to feel more and more familiar, like a smell from his childhood, a faint memory slowly dawning. He knew this person. Somehow, this was tied to him. If he could just get a little closer . . .

The sound of the back door opening dissolved the bubble of focus he maintained, snapping his mind back into his body, which was already moving at the sound. He slipped out from under Joyce’s head, lowering it gently to rest on one of the sofa pillows, and met Buffy in the front hall, blinking the last of the trance from his eyes. “How did it go?”

She shrugged. “Two vamps, no superskank. What about here?”

“All was quiet. Dawn is in bed, and your mother fell asleep on the couch. I didn’t want to move her.”

Buffy nodded. “Yeah, she’s waking up a lot in the night. She’ll move herself upstairs when she wakes up on her own. Thanks for coming over, Giles.”

He patted her shoulder comfortingly. “You know it’s my pleasure, Buffy.” He caught up his jacket, sparing a quick glance at Joyce. “Same time tomorrow?”

She nodded. “Unless something new comes up. Which, hey, not looking forward to.”

“Get some rest. Things won’t feel so overwhelming then.”

“I’ll try.” She smiled weakly. “Thanks, Giles.”

As he made his way out to his car, he tried to recapture that thread of familiarity. But recognition eluded him, keeping him awake far into the night.


	2. Let Us Not Talk Falsely Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Giles gets the information he’s been seeking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place during the episode Fool for Love and several days after There’s Too Much Confusion.

Yet another spectacular failure for Rupert Giles, researcher extraordinaire. He sighed, feeling the frustration welling up inside of him. Joyce was still sick, and now he had almost lost Buffy as well, to freak chance. She wanted to find answers, wanted there to be a reason for her failure, and he didn’t have the heart to tell her that sometimes that was just the way it happened. Even the best Slayer could slip in the tub and break her neck. But she had too many questions in her life right now, and he couldn’t bear to see her in any more pain. So he’d given her the money she’d asked for and sent her off to her own version of Interview with a Vampire. 

But meanwhile this pile of books wasn’t straightening itself.

He cleared the counter and began sorting the stacks on the table. The Watcher diaries he’d take back to the apartment, but some of these others weren’t for general consumption. He climbed the ladder tiredly to return them to the restricted section.

When he descended again and turned, he nearly jumped out of his skin to realize that he wasn’t alone.

She stood at the far side of the reading table, flipping through one of the diaries with faint interest. Her cap of short ash blonde waves was neat and tightly controlled, emphasizing her pale eyes and hawkish nose. Her conservative skirt and silk blouse did nothing to flatter her figure.

Recognition dawned, and with it he was finally able to place the sense of familiarity of the spell on Joyce that had nagged him for the past several days.

“Cassandra.”

His heart began pounding. This was the person torturing, killing Joyce. But why? She had never done anything to Cassandra. What could motivate such a horrendous act? Silently he drew a calming breath. He couldn’t do anything without more information. He needed to stay cool and see what she would reveal.

She looked up from the book, amusement brightening her eyes. “Hullo, Rupert.” “Long time, no see.”

“If you consider three months a long time. After our encounter in London, I hadn’t expected to see you again so soon.”

“I’m just full of surprises.” She gestured to the books. “I thought you had given all this up.”

“Not hardly. I still have a sacred duty, even if I’m no longer performing it for the Council.”

“Excellent. Then that gives us excellent grounds for negotiation.” 

“Negotiation?”

“Oh come now, Rupert.” She leaned back against the table, crossing her arms loosely in front of her, her eyes sharp. “I know you came looking for me the other night. I felt you blundering around on the astral. I didn’t see any reason to stay hidden now that I knew you’d received my message.”

She was giving him too much credit. He’d had no clue it was her. “What message?”

“Your lover’s illness, of course. Don’t be tiresome, Rupert. It only wastes valuable time.”

So much for playing for information. “So you’re holding Joyce’s health hostage? For what? What do I have that could be worth a woman’s life to you?”

“The Slayer.”

He stared at her, dumbfounded.

“I can’t believe I ever thought I could find influence in the Council through you,” she said in disdain, shaking her head. “You’ve been a total cock-up as a watcher. Gave the Slayer too much freedom and let her slip the Council’s lead. And now look at her. Fraternizing with vampires and demons, wasting time with a social life when she should be training, hunting . . .”

“She’s a young woman, Cassandra. She deserves to have a life.”

“She’s the Slayer,” she spat. “She gave up her life the moment she was called. And the Council wants her back.”

He struggled to maintain his composure. “But you aren’t here at the Council’s behest, are you?”

“No.” She approached him slowly, almost menacingly. “I’m doing the work they’re too cowardly to do.”

“So I’m expected to do what? Deliver Buffy up in exchange for an end to the spell against Joyce?”

“That’s exactly what I expect.” 

“Do you really think you can control her by threatening her mother? All you will get is one very brassed off Slayer, and that never works out well. Just ask Quentin Travers.” 

“That’s why I’ve come to you. You’re her Watcher, her father figure. Control her. Bring her back in line, or I’ll do it, the hard way.”

“Why you . . .” He lunged for her, but before he could touch her, he was flung across the room to crash into the candle display against the wall. He rose, but not under his own power. He was trapped, held in a ring of force she controlled with her outstretched hand. He struggled against it, but she didn’t waver.

“You were always better than me at weapons and combat,” she said calmly, lowering her hand but keeping the snare in place, “but after you returned from your debauch, you never had the heart for the magic studies again, did you? You can’t defeat me, Rupert. I’ve gotten too strong for you. Now do as you’re told, or people will start dying. And I have no qualms including you and the Slayer in that list. If she dies, the Council still gets a Slayer, albeit an inexperienced one.”

“You won’t succeed.”

“Rupert, I can’t possibly fail.” 

She gathered up her blazer and hand bag before facing him again. “I’ll give you some time to think about it. You should be receiving a phone call tonight which will indicate just how serious I am. I’ll be back in touch.” And without a backward glance, she walked out of the shop.

The holding spell lasted another fifteen minutes before dumping him unceremoniously to the floor. But that gave him all the time he needed to decide on his next course of action. As soon as he righted himself, he went straight to the phone, pausing only to grab his notebook from its slot under the register.

“It’s me,” he said into the mouthpiece. “I know what’s going on. Can you meet me at my flat? Yes, I’ll be there in ten minutes.”


	3. Life is But a Joke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone’s come looking for young Rupert Giles and finds Ripper instead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A flashback to Ripper and Ethan's earlier days.

Ripper lay sprawled across the bed, watching the ceiling slowly spin, the dust motes dancing in the afternoon half light filtering in through the blinds as the lines of cocaine and half bottle of whiskey altered him cell by cell. God, he was horny. Where the fuck was Ethan? He could use a blowjob, and Ethan gave head better than any girl he’d ever tried.

He heard the door buzzer ring, but couldn’t bring himself to care until he heard Ethan. “Oi, mate! Lady for you.”

With a curse, he pushed himself up off the mattress, buttoning the fly of his jeans as he stumbled out into the living room. Ethan stood by the door, holding it open for whoever stood out in the hall. Ripper sauntered erratically over to him, draping an arm around his shoulder as he pressed his chest against Ethan’s bare back. “This had better be good,” he grumbled, nuzzling against Ethan’s hair, “or I’m gonna make you so sorry later.”

“You’ll have to ask the lady,” Ethan replied, subtly rubbing his ass against Ripper’s erection. “She rather insisted.”

He looked up blearily to make out the shape of the woman standing in front of them. Medium height, long fall of ash blonde hair, decent figure and long legs hidden under a conservative gray skirt and blazer. Finally he was able to focus his attention on her face.

Recognition dawned slowly. “Cass?”

She clasped her hands in front of her. “Hullo, Rupert.”

“Rooopert,” Ethan singsonged, snickering.

“Shut it, you,” he growled, shoving Ethan away. “How the bloody hell did you find me?”

“You aren’t the only one who can work magic,” she said, brushing past him into the apartment, “and a locator spell isn’t all that difficult.”

“Lovely, you found me. Now piss off.”

Her face flushed with anger. “Rupert, you’ve been missing for three months. It’s time to come back.”

“’M not coming back, Cass.” He was having a hard time concentrating, and he could feel the pleasant euphoria of earlier draining away.

“You have to. You have an obligation, a responsibility . . .”

“Wasn’t my choice, was it? Gran, and then Da, they chose. Me, I inherited it. I’m barely twenty-one and already they’ve got me boxed up like an old man. Well, I’m done with it. No more studying and training and waiting. Don’t want to watch, Cassie. I want to do.”

“Do what?”

“Whatever the fuck I want.”

She was silent for a moment. “We lost the Slayer last week. In New York.”

“Don’t care.”

“They have all of us working to look for the new one. We could use your help.”

“I said I don’t sodding care.”

“What about me? You were going to help me with the Council, pull strings on my behalf, remember? Or don’t you care about me, either?”

“Not particularly, no. You’re good at lookin’ out for yourself, Cassandra. You’ll manage. You always do.”

She slapped him. Ethan, leaning against the couch, laughed.

The anger he wore so close to the surface of his skin these days rose up, and he shoved her back against the wall. “Better watch yourself, girl. I’m not the same little prat you pushed around through school.”

“I’m not afraid of you.”

“Damn well oughta be.”

“Oh, come on, Ripper. Either throw the chit out or invite her to stay and play.”

“Do you want to play?” Ripper leaned forward to murmur in her ear. “I think we’ve got a line or two left. Make you feel good.”

Ethan sidled up as well. “And then we could make you feel even better.”

“My god,” she said, shocked. “Are you on drugs?”

“Quite a number, actually,” Ripper replied. “Let’s me feel alive again.”

“Until they kill you.”

“That’s kind of the idea.”

She pushed him away, turning to glare at Ethan. “You did this to him.”

“Sorry, pet. I just helped him find what he was looking for. If it wasn’t me, would have been somebody else.”

Ripper stumbled away, head starting to throb. He found his cigarettes on the coffee table and lit up, the nicotine settling his nerves slightly. “If you aren’t going to join us, Cass, why don’t you just shove off. This is a very expensive buzz you’re killing.”

Her face a fury, she stormed out pausing in the doorway. “You’re going to be sorry for this, Rupert Giles. One day you’re going to regret this, and no one is going to want you back. Least of all me.” She slammed the door behind her.

“You might have kept her around,” Ethan tsked. “A bird in the hand makes it easier to get into her bush.”

“Oh, shut your gob, man. And come over here and give me a blow, will ya? Bitch brought me right down.”

“I’m just sayin’,” he said, crouching down between Ripper’s thighs as he undid the jeans fly, “now we have to do all that work at the pub to talk a few girls home with us when we could have been taking turns shagging that one.”

Ripper leaned back with a sigh as Ethan’s warm hand wrapped around his cock, guiding it to his hungry mouth. “Trust me, laying Cassandra Jameson is no great joy. And besides,” he stroked the hair on Ethan’s bobbing head, “what do I need a girl for when I’ve got you?”

Ethan’s mouth was too full of cock for him to reply.


	4. You and I We’ve Been Through That

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Giles needs help in order to help Joyce

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set 20 minutes after Let Us Not Talk Falsely Now and during the events of the episode Fool for Love. The story of Giles’ grandmother comes from Tales of the Vampire #5, written by some guy named Joss . . . something.

When Ethan arrived at the apartment, he found Rupert in a state.

Books were scattered everywhere, haphazardly intermixed with weapons of varying lethality. The pass-through to the kitchen held randomly assorted spell components. Rupert flitted from book to blade to bottle, totally unfocused, not even registering Ethan’s arrival. “Rupert,” he said to get the man’s attention. “Ripper,” he repeated louder. When that didn’t work, he stepped into his path and gripped his shoulders. “Rupert!”

Something seemed to awaken inside Giles as he registered Ethan’s presence. “What took you so long?” he growled, shaking Ethan off. “We’ve got too much to do to be wasting time . . .”

“Rupert, it’s been twenty minutes since you called. I don’t teleport.”

“We don’t have time. We have to go find her, have to stop her. Have to go . . .”

“Where?” Ethan interrupted. “Where are we going, Rupert?”

The look on Rupert’s face was devastated.

Ethan pushed him down into the desk chair. “You have to get a grip, mate. I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s going on.” He grabbed the bottle of single malt off the bar and poured a few fingers into a glass and handed it to Rupert. “Now drink that and pull yourself together.”

Rupert sagged, exhausted and desolate. He swallowed down the alcohol and just stared down into the glass. “I don’t know. I don’t know where she went.”

Ethan grabbed another chair and sat down in front of him. “I think you need to tell me what happened.”

With a ragged breath, Rupert set the glass down on the desk. “I had a visit tonight. From Cassandra Jameson.”

“Who?”

“You remember her. From the club in London? The woman Joyce got so jealous of.”

Ethan could barely recall her. “Didn’t you say she was some kind of associate of yours from the Council?”

“She was more than that. We went through the Academy together, back when we were children. She was one of my first girlfriends. But she was a climber, and it wasn’t long before I realized she only wanted me for the prestige I, my family, could bring her when we were fully admitted into the Council. She was livid when I left school, left my training to come to London. She says she found me, tried to bring me back, but I don’t remember it.”

Ethan nodded. “Those first few months were quite a blur. The drugs mostly, I suppose.”

Rupert nodded. “Anyway, when I did finally come back, after . . .” He glanced guiltily at Ethan, “she couldn’t believe the Council actually accepted me back, in fact advanced me into their ranks a full year ahead of her. She made nice, but I could tell she was furious. Didn’t think I deserved anything, let alone the field assignments I got right away while she was stuck with desk duty. She always thought my family pulled strings for me, got me promoted over her. What she didn’t realize was that the Council is notoriously misogynistic, and only the most impressive women ever got field assignments.”

“Wasn’t your grandmother assigned a Slayer?”

“My grandmother,” Rupert smiled slightly, shaking his head, “took on her first vampire at the age of nine. It was a cunning creature that had infiltrated the Council itself and was attending classes with the other students right under the noses of experienced Watchers. Even then, the Council knew Gran was formidable. Cass . . . was not.”

“What does any of this have to do with Joyce?”

“Cassandra has figured out a way to finally get influence with the Council. By returning their rogue Slayer to them. I’m to convince Buffy to return to the Council’s control, or Cassandra will kill Joyce. And then Buffy.”

“By god . . .” Ethan was stunned. “I didn’t realize you white hats could be so . . .”

“Ruthless? Believe me, the Council has pragmatic down to a science. And their hats may be white, but they are very, very dirty.”

“So what did she say would happen next?”

“Nothing.” He tried to adjust his absent glasses, and ended up simply rubbing his eyes. “She said she’d give me time to think about it, that something would happen tonight to make my choices clear. And then she left.”

“And you let her go?”

“I didn’t _let_ her do anything,” he barked, and Ethan could feel the rage and frustration in his tone. “When I tried to stop her, she threw me across the room and pinned me in a stasis field. I couldn’t break it, Ethan. Couldn’t move it at all. And she was able to maintain it long after she was gone.”

“But that’s not possible. The level of power that would require . . . I didn’t feel any of that in her in London.”

“I don’t think the Council is aware of it, either. If they were, they’d be keeping a much tighter leash on her. She’s too powerful, Ethan. I can’t stop her.” He saw Rupert struggle with the words. “She was right about one thing. After I went back, after Randall and . . . everything, I didn’t keep up with the magics. I can do rituals, basic workings. But I just don’t have the control, the energy levels to take on someone as powerful as she is.” Finally he looked into Ethan’s eyes. “I need your help.”

Ethan’s insides clenched. Rupert had no hesitation, no uncertainty in asking for his help. That alone told Ethan all he needed to know about how serious a threat Rupert saw this woman to be. And how little hope he had left.

Rupert mistook his silence. “Please.” He didn’t try to hide the pleading in his tone. “If you have any real feeling for her at all, you have to help us. I . . . I’ve already lost one woman I love to this war, this calling. I just . . . I can’t do it again.”

And there it was.

Ethan had wondered which of them would be the first to break and admit the depth of his feelings for the beautiful, intoxicating woman who had managed to so completely captivate the both of them. He didn’t feel as though he had won anything by holding out the longer.

He was spared having to respond by the sharp ring of the phone cutting through the tense silence.

It rang again.

“You’d better answer it.”

Drawing in a deep breath, Rupert picked up the receiver. “Hello? . . . Yes, yes I see . . . Do you need anything? . . . No, don’t worry about that, we can talk later. Call me when you have any word . . . Alright. Tell your mother I, my thoughts are with her . . . Good night, Buffy.”

“Bad?” Ethan asked as Rupert put down the handset.

“Joyce is going into the hospital overnight for observation before having a CAT scan in the morning.”

“And you think they will find something.”

“I’m certain of it. Cassandra said something would happen to prove how serious she was.”

They both sat in contemplation before Ethan spoke up. “You realize that for this to work, we are going to have to tell your Slayer what’s been going on. She won’t accept my help otherwise.”

“She may not accept it anyway.” But Ethan could hear the relief in Rupert’s voice.

“She will. She has the same incentive we do.”

“Joyce won’t be pleased.”

“Pissed or dead, Ripper. Take your pick.”

He hardly needed to think. “Pissed it shall be. I’ve had her mad at me before.” He slouched backward in the chair, fatigue evident in his posture. “We may have to be ready to move on short notice. Why don’t you stay here, in the guestroom. That way I won’t have to track you down if I need you.”

“Yes, alright. I’ll go pack up my things and be back here in the morning.”

Rupert just nodded.

“Get some sleep. You’re going to be no use to anyone if you’re completely wrung out.”

He nodded again, slumping further down in the chair.

But when Ethan opened the door, Rupert’s voice stopped him. “Thank you.”

“For her, Rupert. Anything for her.”


	5. Monday Menage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The time has come to share all the gory details with a certain high strung young lady . . .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place two days after the events of You And I We’ve Been Through That and the day after the events of the episode Shadow. For the purposes of this story, Listening to Fear did not occur.

Young eyes shifted from him to Rupert and back again as they worked doing research on the Beast, who Ripper now said had a name. Glory. Descriptive enough, but rather common for something so fear inducing.

He observed them even as they watched him. It was a bit of a Heisenbergian conundrum, as his presence here changed their behavior. But as he picked through the collection of new books and old texts Rupert had available, he was able to get a fairly good understanding of the group dynamics.

They were a chaos mage’s dream come true.

Ethan was amazed that such a disparate group of individuals could manage to work together as cohesively as they did. But work together they did, and he had seen first hand how effectively. But still, it must drive Rupert spare. This was the kind of group where any word, any action, could send them spinning off in random directions for good or ill. But somehow together.

The shopkeeper cum vengeance demon he had gotten to know from checking in with Ripper over the past several weeks. She was a forthright little chit, and not shy at all. But the greed and lust were surrogates for something else, something she longed for and couldn’t get back except in the arms of her young lover.

That one was interesting. He tried to see things as absolutes, but the world he inhabited didn’t allow for that. So he was wreathed in ambiguities and compromise, uncertain of his role, his purpose, his destiny. But he had the heart of a lion, Sir Gawain pursuing the quest simply because it _was_ the quest. Ethan hoped it didn’t get the boy killed one day.

The lovers were a study in contrasts. The blonde seemed to take the chaos of the world around her into herself, instinctively ordering it before sinking it back into the earth. She was powerful, not in any temporal way, but in the same way that a tree was powerful, simply by existing. She was a rock, a foundation they all could rely on. Even on such brief acquaintance, Ethan felt a profound respect for her.

Her partner on the other hand . . . The darkness, the chaos he had sensed around her last year had only grown, crackling and snapping about her. It was like sperm surrounding an egg, flickering and frenzied, beating their heads against the barrier denying them, each hoping to be the one strong enough, smart enough, perseverant enough to get through. And whichever one did would transform her beyond all recognition. It was close. Her resistance was wearing thin. It would just take the right impetus to make her finally give in to it. If Rupert couldn’t see it, Ethan would have to make him.

The vampire amused him. He had the bad ass persona down, but Ethan could see his soft chewy center. Certainly there was a streak of anger, of rage flowing through him, but that was more the demon than his actual personality. This Spike showed more compassion than any vampire Ethan had ever come across. The protectiveness he had shown for Joyce was evidence of a vein of softer emotion, a vein Ethan suspected ran back to the Slayer. A vampire in love with a Slayer. A lovely paradox Ethan looked forward to seeing played out.

It was the last one, the boyfriend, that gave Ethan pause. This one didn’t belong here. The chaos touched him, the violence, the magic, but it didn’t affect him. He wasn’t part of this world. The others, they were all integrated, part of the mystical forces of the world they inhabited. This one was oil in the water, and no amount of shaking was ever going to make him part of it.

And then the door opened with a clang of bells and all that divergent energy aligned and coalesced in the presence of their nucleus, like stepped light in a laser.

The Slayer thrummed with a power all her own, one he’d become intimately aware of in the hour it had taken him to mark the back of her neck. But tonight it was subdued, veiled behind a curtain of fear and sorrow and insecurity. So vulnerable.

Were she anyone else’s child, Ethan’s mouth would be watering.

Rupert wanted a chance to talk to the girl, prepare her for Ethan’s presence, so he hung back, not quite hiding in the alcove behind the ladder up to the loft. But he could still hear clearly.

Rupert had looked up as well when the bell over the door had rung, and spoke as the girl crossed the shop to deposit her bag on the counter. “Buffy. How is your mother?”

She sighed and pulled herself up on the stool that had been left sitting there. “Home. And heavily sedated. She’s started to see things.” She raised her eyes to his meaningfully.

“Things?”

“Things I really don’t want her to see.”

Rupert looked concerned. “I see. Was it wise to leave her on her own?”

“Dawn’s with her, and with the medications they have her on, she should stay unconscious for a couple of hours. I don’t want to be gone for too long, though.”

“Cornbread and I will cover patrol for you tonight, Slayer,” Spike spoke up from his seat on the table.

She turned to look at him incredulously. “Are you offering to _help_ me?”

He shrugged. “Got a soft spot for your mum, don’t I? If helpin’ you helps her, well, that’s just a sacrifice I’m willin’ to make.”

She tried not to look pleased. “Thank you.”

He just shrugged and dropped his eyes, not quite embarrassed.

The boyfriend didn’t look very pleased, though.

“So, what’s up? You said it was important on the phone.”

“Yes, um, well.” Rupert fumbled in his pockets, fidgeted with the glasses on his face. Behold the befuddled Watcher. “Perhaps it would be better if we took this in the back.”

“Oh god, Giles, what’s wrong? Did Glory . . .” She turned to follow him and saw Ethan for the first time.

He stepped brazenly out of the shadows to lean against the rail of the stairs, his arms crossed over his chest. “Good evening, Slayer.”

The room went quiet, but he could sense the various responses, from curiosity to breath holding. And one large wave of anger.

She stopped in midstep. “What is _he_ doing here?”

“Not staying out of the way very well, apparently,” Giles muttered. “He’s here to help, Buffy.”

“Help? Why should we trust his help?”

“That is precisely what I would like to discuss with you alone in the training room. Now.” His tone was a kind of stern Ethan hadn’t heard him use with the girl before. She seemed to know it, but wasn’t used to it, either. She responded without further argument, storming into the back room with a glower back over her shoulder.

“Good luck, mate,” Ethan said quietly.

Rupert paused, then looked at him with all seriousness. “If I’m not out in fifteen minutes, call out the House Guard.”

“Steady on.”

“Man,” the boy said with a low whistle when the door to the back room closed. “Giles looked like he was off to face a firing squad.”

Ethan never took his eyes off the door. “That might be because he has to tell her I’ve been sleeping with her mother.”

The silence was palpable.

He glanced back over his shoulder into all their staring faces. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. He has, too.”

Eyes got a little wider as they all looked at each other in shock. All except for Spike, who was watching their reactions with a hint of a smile. Then they all turned to watch the door again.

Oh yes, this was definitely his kind of crowd.

 

 

Buffy paced the floor, her arms crossed tightly over her chest until Giles closed the door behind him and approached her.

“Are you _insane_?” She whirled on him. “After everything he’s done to us, to you, to my mom? You’re going to trust him?”

“Buffy,” he replied calmly, “we’ve gotten some information . . .”

“We? Who’s we? You and the Amazing Mumford out there?”

“That’s enough!”

She flinched from his harsh tone, but he had gotten her attention.

“I understand your dislike for Ethan Rayne, but we need his help. For your mother’s sake. Now please, let me explain.”

She dropped onto the couch, her face a storm. “Fine. Explain.”

He paced slowly, sliding into the safe space of lecture mode. “As you know, I’ve been looking into the cause of your mother’s illness with no success. I wasn’t able to locate the origin of the sigil you saw through any of my researches. And then, two nights ago, I had a visitor.” He sat down on the sofa next to her. “A woman named Cassandra Jameson. A member of the Watcher’s Council I’ve known since childhood. She admitted that she is the one working against your mother, and the price she asks for releasing her is you.”

“Me?”

“Back with the Council and obedient.”

“And she thinks threatening my mother is going to make me play nice?” Buffy’s tone was incredulous.

“No, she thinks it will convince me to bring you back in line.”

“Well, obviously she’s stupid as well as insane. If she wanted to manipulate you, she should have picked on someone closer to you.”

That was the opening he needed, but he found he couldn’t say the words.

“So you know who she is,” Buffy continued, “let’s go find her and hurt her until she fixes Mom.”

“There are several problems with that. The first being we don’t know where she is. We’ve been doing locator spells to try to find her, but she must be heavily shielded, because we haven’t been able to find a trace of her.”

“You’re back to that ‘we’ thing.”

“Yes, Buffy, we. Ethan and I. Because our bigger problem is that Cassandra is a very powerful magician, more powerful than I can hope to combat. Which is why we need Ethan. Not only should he be able to reverse what’s been done to Joyce, but he is strong enough to take on Cassandra should she decide to confront us.”

“Why should we trust him? You know he never does anything unless there’s something in it for him.”

“He has a vested interest in helping.” Here it was.

“Oh yeah?” Her tone was doubtful. “What?”

Now he forced himself to look her in the face. “He’s in a relationship with your mother.”

She stared at him blankly.

“Tell me,” she finally said, slowly and deliberately, “that you did not just say the words that I heard come out of your mouth.”

“Buffy. . .”

“No, Giles!” She surged to her feet. “My mother wouldn’t get involved with a selfish, vicious man like that. And even if she did, a brief fling wouldn’t guarantee anything from him.”

“Ten months.”

She hesitated. “What?”

“They’ve been together for ten months.”

“And you’ve known about it the whole time?”

He nodded.

“How could you, Giles? How could you let him touch her, come anywhere near her? You know what he is better than anyone.”

“Buffy, your mother was never in any danger. I was there the whole time and he was only ever gentle and considerate of her. She seems to have had a profound effect on him.”

Buffy stared at him. “You. Were. There?”

He sighed, committed now. “Yes, Buffy, I was there. I’ve been there a number of times. Ethan isn’t the only one your mother is having a relationship with.”

“Oh my god.” Buffy’s face was white, her hand over her mouth in horror. “That’s disgusting. That you would let her get involved in something so wrong, so depraved . . .”

Suddenly Giles was tired of this. “Oh, do grow up, Buffy!” She jerked in shock at his words. “Not all relationships are monogamous, straight, romantic encounters. As you get older, you’ll understand that. For now, you should be grateful for Ethan’s involvement. If it were just me, I doubt your mother would survive.”

She looked like a hurt child. “But you don’t love her?”

“I care about her very much,” he said, his tone softer, as he rose and crossed the floor to her. “And you, and Dawn. The three of us, she and Ethan and I, all get something important out of this relationship, but it’s not the kind where we can delve into deeper feelings. As your mother said, it’s not about hearts and flowers. But it is about something significant, meaningful, for all of us. Believe me when I say that Ethan cares as much for your mother as I do and will do everything he can to help her.”

She looked up at him sullenly, but he could tell his arguments had swayed her. “I still think what you’re doing is sick and wrong.”

“Fortunately for us, what we do isn’t up to you. Now, which is more important, your moral superiority or your mother’s life?”

“That’s not fair.”

“It is, however, relevant.”

He could see all her thoughts warring behind her face. Finally she asked, “I don’t have to be nice to him, do I?”

He smiled. “I never have been.”

“Fine.” She gave in. “Let’s get this bitch and get my mom better. Then we’ll worry about the rest.”

He sighed in relief. “Excellent. First we need to go discuss this with the others. Finding Cassandra’s going to have to be our first priority.”

“Okay, fine, let’s go out and tell all my friends what a pervert my mother is.”

That knocked him back. “Buffy . . .”

“Save it, Giles.” She marched purposefully across the room to the door. “Just . . . save it.”

 

 

When they came back out, Ripper looked grim. The Slayer looked furious.

Ethan couldn’t resist stirring the pot a little more. “Buffy, sweet child.” He extended his arms, a smug grin on his face. “Come give your Uncle Ethan a hug.”

She came alright. He thought he heard his nose crunch from the force of the blow, although he was too busy falling to the floor to be certain. He protected himself from a follow up blow. When it didn’t come, he glanced up to see Spike restraining the Slayer’s upraised arms.

“’M crushed, pet,” he heard Spike say, his voice teasingly seductive. “Thought you saved that special love tap for me.”

She shrugged him off easily. “Stay out of this, Spike.” But her ire seemed to have cooled somewhat.

Rupert helped Ethan to his feet. “You were just asking for that, you know.”

“Yes, but you haven’t hit me in so long, I was beginning to feel unappreciated.”

“You’re assuming I ever appreciated you in the first place.”

Ethan just grinned, then winced at the pain in his face.

He hadn’t noticed the blonde witch leave the room until she returned, offering him an ice pack. He took it gratefully. “Thank you, my dear.”

Buffy glared around the room. “So, you all know?”

They all nodded their heads hesitantly, Tara the only one brave enough to say, “Mr. Rayne told us about it while you were with Giles.”

“Fine.” Buffy’s words were terse, her jaw tight. “We are not going to discuss it. Ethan is working for us for now. Giles, tell them what’s happened.”

Rupert spoke succinctly, laying everything out from Buffy’s attempt at the tirer la coutere, leaving out any mention of Dawn’s origin. He detailed his history with Cassandra Jameson, and Cassandra’s plan to return the Slayer to the Council.

“I believe that when Cassandra saw Joyce and I together in London this summer,” he said, his eyes drifting to the floor, “she saw it as the perfect opportunity to force Buffy back into the fold, under her supervision.”

Ethan nodded. “It had to have been done there. If it had happened here, I would have felt it.”

“So what if Buffy won’t come back?” the boy asked. “It wouldn’t be the first time she’s thumbed her nose at the Council.”

“Cassandra was very clear on that.” Rupert’s face went dark. “If I can’t bring Buffy back, then Joyce will die. Followed soon after by Buffy herself, and anyone else standing in Cassandra’s way. If she can’t have Buffy, she’s perfectly willing to substitute a new, inexperienced Slayer.”

They were all obviously shocked at the brutal pragmatism of the plan.

The redhead was the first to speak up. “If we can find her, find out what she did, will you be able to prevent Mrs. Summers’ surgery?”

Rupert looked to Ethan, who could only shake his head. “If it were a purely magical attack,” Ethan explained, “it wouldn’t have been as definable by the medical establishment. It would have turned up as random brain damage or something similar, probably be written off as a stroke. This looks to be tampering with Joyce’s own natural body systems. A cancer in its barest form is really just over-stimulated cell growth. It would be simple enough for her to do, with the right information. The trick would be controlling the rate of growth to her timetable. But Joyce’s cancer is very real, and will have to be treated as such.”

“So where does that leave us?” the boy asked.

“With too many psychotic women messing with my life,” Buffy complained. “We still don’t know anything about Glory, and now we’ve got this other one to go after.”

“I would suggest we divide our forces. Ethan and I will focus on Cassandra, while the rest of you continue looking into Glory’s history.”

“I’m not doin’ bloody book work,” Spike protested.

“I wouldn’t trust you to, anyway, Spike,” Rupert snapped back. “It would, however, be helpful if you and Riley could continue to cover Buffy’s patrols for the next several nights. I’m sure she wants to be able to spend time with her mother right now.”

“Yeah, fine with me. Whitebread?”

“Unless Buffy wants me with her,” he said sullenly, looking at Buffy hopefully.

“I think . . .” she hesitated, and then pushed on, “I should probably just be available for Mom right now. Although what I’m going to say to her . . . “

“Buffy,” Rupert said softly but firmly, interjecting his body between her and the rest of her friends. “Your mother loves you and needs you right now. Just because your perceptions of her have changed doesn’t mean that that has. You have always been foremost in her thoughts.”

“But what do I say to her, Giles? What do I say to you?”

“Worry about that after. When she’s well and whole and can fight with you properly. All you need to say to her now is that you love her.”

Buffy stared at her shoes for long minutes before looking back up into his eyes, passion flaring again. “Find her, Giles. Make all this pain worth it.”

He simply nodded. But Ethan could feel the force of a vow behind that motion.


	6. Princes Kept the View

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night before Joyce goes in for surgery, the men in her life stand vigil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place two nights after the events of None Will Level On The Line. This chapter was written by both of us, as one of the characters wasn't playing nice.
> 
> Special thanks on this one goes to pepperlandgirl4, who recommended Giles’ lullaby. As could be expected considering the source, said lullaby is Good Night by the Beatles.

The hospital ward was dark and quiet this late at night. Giles was grateful Dr. Kriegel had made arrangements for Joyce to receive night visitors. He didn’t like the thought of her being alone the night before her surgery. So he sat in a chair beside the bed, reviewing a reference on body spells looking for a possible culprit while Joyce dozed in the bed. Not that he could concentrate enough to do any serious research. But with her surgery scheduled for the morning, he needed to feel like he was doing something to help her.

“Hey.”

He looked up to see her watching him, her normally luminous eyes fogged over from the medications they had her on. “Hello yourself,” he said softly, setting the book aside to lean forward and brush her hair back from her face. “How are you feeling?”

“Lonely,” she said thickly. “Come hold me?”

“Of course.” He moved around the bed away from her IV and sat next to her, reclining against the raised head as he gathered her close to his chest. “Better?”

“Much.” She snuggled closer in his arms, her own wrapping around his waist. “It’s nice to feel protected for a change.”

He kissed the top of her head, gently stroking her back. “Is there anything else I can do? Would you like me to read to you?”

“God, no.” She shook her head almost imperceptibly. “The words wouldn’t make any sense to me.”

He continued just soothingly caressing her back, slowing his breathing to match hers.

“Sing for me?”

“Hmm?”

“Sing for me. I love the sound of your voice.”

He thought for a moment and then, resting his cheek against her hair, softly hummed several bars before easing into the tender lullaby.

_Now it's time to say good night,  
Good night sleep tight  
Now the sun turns out his light,  
Good night sleep tight_

She sighed gently, and he felt her fragile body relax against him.

_Dream sweet dreams for me,  
Dream sweet dreams for you_

Her breathing eased into the steady rhythm of sleep, her body lax against his. But he kept crooning lightly.

_Close your eyes and I'll close mine,  
Good night sleep tight_

_Now the moon begins to shine,  
Good night sleep tight_

And suddenly, as he held her slender, threatened form, singing nonsense lyrics to her in a strange bed in the middle of the night, he was overwhelmed by the love he had for her. True, deep, abiding love that went so far beyond convenience or amusement. He needed her in his life. She made him complete. Made him strong and playful and passionate. He felt tears welling up in his eyes, let them run freely down his face. If he lost her now. . .

_Dream sweet dreams for me,  
Dream sweet dreams for you_

He heard a sound and looked up to see Buffy standing in the doorway, watching them. Their eyes met and held, and he saw sadness, confusion, anger, fear and a dozen other emotions all roil within her. Finally, without saying a word, she turned and walked away.

He drew Joyce closer, nuzzling against the crown of her head. They had to get through this first. Once they got through this and Joyce was alright, then they could worry about Buffy and the rest. But first they had to save her.

_Good night, good night ev'rybody  
Ev'rybody ev'rywhere good night_

 

 

“Not working, is it?”

Ethan looked up from his drink to find Spike studying him intently. “Not yet,” he replied.

“Fancy some company?”

Ethan motioned to the seat across from him. “Shouldn’t you be at Willy’s?”

“Bloke can’t branch out on occasion?” Spike inquired, arching an eyebrow. “So, what’s your poison?”

“Scotch.”

The vampire frowned. “No wonder. You don’t drink scotch at a time like this. You need something a bit stronger.”

“And I suppose you’re an expert?”

“Vampire here, if I say it’s strong, it’s strong,” he said as he flagged down a waitress. “Bring us a bottle of Jack, would you, luv?”

The waitress blushed then left. She returned a few moments later with the whiskey and two glasses.

“Anything else?” she asked hopefully.

“No, luv, that’s fine,” Spike handed her some cash. “Keep an eye out, though.”

“Rupert would be shocked,” Ethan commented. “According to him, you never pay for anything.”

“When the occasion calls for it, I can be as honest as the next man. Actually, it’s his money, so I guess he’s the one paying.” Tossing back a shot, “Speaking of Rupes, he at the hospital?”

“Where else?”

“And why aren’t you there?” Spike asked pointedly.

Ethan drank the whiskey with a grimace. Nasty stuff really. He was a man of taste, but sometimes taste could be overlooked. Finally he said, “Can’t stand the places.”

“Cuz you’re a man of action,” Spike said.

“Oh yes, sitting in a bar getting drunk is so in line with that,” he replied derisively, drinking another shot.

“So why are you here?”

“Rupert’s better with that sort of thing than I am,” Ethan shrugged. Figuring he had nothing to lose by the admission, or maybe it was the whiskey getting to him, “This is where it all began, you know.”

Spike raised his eyebrows.

“Just chance really. Was going to turn Ripper into a Fyarl.”

Spike laughed at that. “The Watcher as a Fyarl. Oh, that would have been priceless. Slayer would’ve kicked his ass.”

“That was my plan.”

“Spot of revenge, then.”

Ethan smiled faintly. “You could say that.”

“So catching up over drinks, biding your time, then what?”

“Rupert spotted Joyce, invited her over. I think she’d been stood up.”

“Lucky for you. Even luckier for Rupert,” Spike grinned. Then, “Never would have taken you for the sentimental type.”

“I have my moments.”

They sat in silence for a while, as the level in the bottle grew lower.

“Any leads on the crazy bint?”

Ethan shook his head. The search was not going well. All of his sources had been tapped out, and that was no inconsiderable amount. At times it seemed like he and Rupert knew even less than before Cassandra had shown her hand. If Joyce—he felt the glass crack.

“Easy, mate,” Spike took the glass from him. “Not going well then, I take it.”

“No, it’s not. It’s like she’s disappeared off the face of the planet,” Ethan growled. “It doesn’t make any sense. No matter how powerful one is, there’s always a trace. You can’t hide that kind of power.”

“Maybe you’re lookin’ in the wrong place.” Ethan must have looked quite frightening for the vampire held up his hands defensively. “Wasn’t insultin’ you. Know better than that now, don’t I? You just might be too close to the problem to look at all the angles.”

“Such as?”

“Camouflage spells?”

Ethan rolled his eyes. “One of my specialties. It was the first thing I checked.”

“Just tryin’ to help,” Spike said. “How ‘bout an alternate dimension? If she’s as powerful as you all think, couldn’t she zip off into one?”

“No. The spell she’s been working on Joyce requires not only relatively close proximity, but it also requires the same dimensional plane,” Ethan frowned. “But points for the idea. You’re smarter than you look.”

“Thanks,” Spike snorted. “Livin’ with Dru helped me learn to think outside the box.”

“Over a century with her. Quite devoted, aren’t you?” his tone was almost appreciative.

“Always was a fool with that sort of thing. One thing the demon couldn’t destroy,” Spike said thoughtfully. “But we aren’t talkin’ about me here. That’s another story for never.”

They each tossed back another shot.

The bottle was almost empty. If he were going to be in any shape tomorrow, Ethan needed to leave now. Wouldn’t do Joyce any good being hung over. He stood to go.

“You sure you can manage?” Spike asked lightly, but genuine.

“I’ve done much worse and managed quite a bit more than walking,” Ethan said. Oh, had he ever.

“Would you mind letting me know how it all turns out tomorrow? Figure the last thing the Slayer needs is me showing up.”

Ethan considered a moment. The vampire truly did care for Joyce, and he was good company. It was the least Ethan could do. “I will.”

He was just outside the door when Spike stopped him.

“Just thought of something. You think of checkin’ the local dead spots?”

Ethan blinked. No, he hadn’t. His surprise must have shown.

“Ha! Knew I’d come up with somethin’!”

He actually laughed at that. Felt good. “You do have your uses, I suppose.” His good mood quickly wore off. “Unfortunately, there’s no easy way to track them down.”

“True, but it’s something to work with.”

It was more than he had at the beginning of the evening. And it gave him something to do the next few hours.

“Thanks,” Ethan said uncertainly.

The vampire shrugged. “Don’t bother. If it helps, well, that’s good enough, innit?”

“I’ll get word to you tomorrow, when we find out.”

“I’d appreciate it. Joyce is a good woman, doesn’t deserve to have to go through this.”

Ethan nodded in acknowledgement and walked off, somewhat relieved to have somewhere to direct his energy the rest of the night.

 

Giles held Joyce quietly while she slept for maybe half an hour before easing her onto the pillows and slipping quietly out of the room.

Buffy sat on a bench of seats down near the empty nurses’ station, her head bent low and her fingers knotted behind her neck. When she heard his shoes squeak on the waxed linoleum, she looked up. He could see the tightness around her mouth and the lost look in her eyes. She rose to her feet. “How is she?”

“She’s sleeping.” He wished he had his glasses, but he’d left them in his jacket back in Joyce’s room. “She’ll most likely be awake again soon. She’s been drifting in and out all evening.”

Buffy nodded and started to move past him.

“Buffy.”

She stopped and turned to face him.

“Tomorrow’s going to be a long and arduous day for you. You should get some rest tonight.”

“I don’t want her to be alone tonight.”

“I can stay with her.”

She hesitated. “Won’t it be a long day for you, too?”

“I’m used to it. Besides, I don’t have Dawn looking to me for strength.”

She studied his shoes for long moments. “About what I said, the other day. I’m . . . sorry. I shouldn’t have . . .”

He cut her off, sparing her the difficult apology. “It’s alright, I do understand.” He paused for a moment. “But if you ever say anything like that to her . . .”

“I wouldn’t! I was just . . . I didn’t mean . . . I’m . . .” And between one breath and the next, she fell apart. “I’m just so _scared_ , Giles!”

He gripped her shoulder and pulled her into his arms as the sobs broke from her chest. Offering her what comfort he could, he ran his hands over her hair and shoulders, making soothing noises as he spoke. “Oh, my dear, of course you are. You have every right to be afraid. We all are. But your mother is a strong and vibrant woman. She’s going to make it through this, Buffy. She won’t let this take her away from us.”

They stood there in the middle of the quiet hallway, the only sound her wracking sobs and his soft murmurings. He continued to hold her as she wept, her arms wrapped around him for the solace he offered, her grief robbing her of her strength, leaving her a weak, frightened young girl afraid for her mother.

Slowly her tears quieted, he body relaxing within his arms. He didn’t stop his gentle caresses until she pulled away, wiping her face with her fingers, being careful of the remains of her makeup. “Okay,” she said, drawing a deep breath. “I’m going to go sit with her. Do I look alright?”

He nodded with a soft smile. “You look fine.”

She turned to go, then stopped. “When was the last time you ate?”

“Oh.” He was surprised by the question. “Um . . .”

“Go downstairs. You should get something while I’m here.”

“Yes, alright. But I’ll be here when you’re ready to go.”

Buffy just nodded before ghosting down the hall to Joyce’s room.


	7. Hear You Sing Around the Watch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Joyce undergoes her surgery, the others have too much time on their hands in the waiting room

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place during the events of the episodes Listening to Fear and Into the Woods and several hours after Princes Kept the View.

By eight-thirty the next morning, they had all gathered at the hospital. Xander and Anya brought coffee and muffins, although Anya couldn’t stay. “You don’t need me here, and people still want to spend their money,” she insisted. “But Xander will call and keep me posted.” She turned on him. “You _will_ call me, won’t you?”

He gathered her close and kissed the top of her head. “Yes, honey, I promise I will call. Often.”

“Okay.” But she still seemed reluctant as she was leaving.

Ethan arrived just as Anya was departing. He paused to speak to her just for a moment, then made a beeline for Giles. “How was her night?”

Giles shrugged. “No real change. She was in and out all night.”

“She’s in good spirits?”

“She seems to be. Buffy’s been in with her most of the morning.”

“Well, that can’t be good for either of us.”

“Give the girl some slack, Ethan. She’s just a child and her mum’s sick. She’s not going to say anything to Joyce until after the surgery. None of us are. Joyce needs to focus on getting well for now.”

“Which isn’t going to happen if we don’t find Cassandra.”

“Did you have any luck last night?”

He sighed. “None at all, I’m afraid. You couldn’t have snatched her hairbrush or an old tissue when you saw her last?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking. Next time I see her I’ll be sure to ask.”

Ethan studied him. “Your sarcasm’s off, mate. Are you that worried?”

Giles’ shoulders sagged. “Scared to death.”

Ethan reached up and patted his shoulder comfortingly.

Buffy came down the hall a few minutes later, her face darkening as she noted Ethan’s presence. Giles prepared to defend Ethan’s right to be there, but Buffy just ignored his presence, speaking directly to Giles. “They’re getting ready to take her down now.”

“Is she okay?” Dawn joined them, her eyes huge, her hands buried in her pockets.

“She’s fine,” Buffy reassured her, lightly stroking her hair. “You’re going to see her in a few minutes. You’ll see.”

And sure enough, within five minutes the orderlies rolled her gurney out of the room and down the hall. As she passed them, Giles could see her taking in all their faces, offering comfort and assurance with a soft smile although her eyes registered her fear.

And then she was gone, and the waiting began.

 

 

Ethan sat separate from the rest of them. He wasn’t a part of their little circle, and really wasn’t interested in any of them. He was there for Joyce. And for Rupert, should Rupert need him. The others held no interest for him at all today.

So he was surprised when the construct came and plopped down in the chair next to him. “Hey,” she said simply, studying him closely.

He leaned to the side, his arms crossed over his chest as they had been all morning. “Hello,” he replied, his tone almost questioning. He tried to emulate her examination, but looking at her made his eyes water. The green radiance surrounding her coruscated around her like sheet lightning, obscuring her physical form no matter how he focused his will.

“So.” She gripped the front of her seat, kicking her legs back and forth. “You and my mom, huh?”

He looked at her in shock. “I’m surprised they told you.”

“They didn’t. I heard Willow and Tara talking about it last night.” She slumped back in her chair. “They never tell me anything. I know I shouldn’t eavesdrop, but how else am I going to keep from growing up ignorant?”

“That’s often the way of the world,” he said, averting his gaze. “Best get used to it now. Just don’t be surprised if in listening in you hear things you’d rather not know.”

“Like what?”

“What your Christmas presents are, what really happened to your goldfish.” The fact that you aren’t a real girl.

She shrugged. “That doesn’t bother me.”

“It will if you only got socks and underwear.”

She thought about that. “Yeah, that would suck.”

He waited for her to get bored and wander off. Instead she just stared at him. The longer she stared, the more uncomfortable he got.

“So, you and Giles are friends?”

He kept his gaze fixed on the tips of his shoes. “I doubt he would classify the relationship that way.”

“But you’ve known each other a long time.”

“Since we were about your sister’s age.”

“Good, then you can’t be that bad a guy.”

He kept himself from laughing.

“You aren’t as stuffy as he is, are you?”

This time he did laugh. “I can safely say that I am nowhere near as dull as Rupert. Although he might surprise you.”

She snorted.

They sat in silence for a long while before she turned to him again.

“So, should I call you Uncle Ethan?”

He nearly swallowed his tongue, turning to stare at her in shock and horror. “You will do no such thing!”

“It’s just, I was talking to some kids at school about it once,” she hurried on, obviously aware of her gaffe, “and they said when their moms started dating again, they always had to call the new boyfriend Uncle so and so. So I just thought . . .”

As she babbled, he noticed something unusual. The green aura that had surrounded her was gone. It was still there beneath the surface if he focused on it, but if he just looked at her, all he saw was a normal teenaged girl. Willowy, coltish limbs, dark, lustrous hair and those wide, luminous eyes so reminiscent of her mother’s. She turned those eyes on him, hopeful and a little uncertain, and he began to realize that it wasn’t her that had changed, but him. For that brief instant of astonishment, he had accepted her as a real flesh and blood child, and that was all the spell creating her needed to thread its tendrils through his defenses and reshape his thoughts to fit the new reality. But looking into her innocent face, he couldn’t find it in him to be angry about it.

“Ethan,” he said softly, lost in his reflection. “Just call me Ethan. Everyone does.”

Her smile was brilliant. “Okay.”

“Dawn!”

She jumped at her sister’s sharp bark, then turned to glare at her.

Buffy was apparently immune. “Get away from there. Come here and eat your lunch.”

With one last glare at her sister and an apologetic shrug to him, she slipped off the bench and wandered in the direction of the impromptu buffet.

He watched her go, wondering how such a small slip of a girl could make him question the very nature of reality.

 

 

Xander had been watching him all day.

Giles could feel the young man’s eyes on him even now. He ignored it for as long as he could, slowly paging his way through the copy of _Derga’s Compendium_ he was currently reviewing. But finally he could take it no longer. “Xander, stop it.”

Xander didn’t flinch. “Sorry, big guy. Just seeing you with new eyes is all.”

Giles didn’t look up as he turned the page. “Well, why don’t you and your new eyes go stare at something else, please.”

“I mean, it’s not like we didn’t talk about it, especially after the whole band candy thing.” He shifted to sit next to Giles. “I mean, come on, you and Mrs. S seemed like a natural fit. It gave Buffy the wiggins, of course, but that was part of the fun. None of us had figured on a third party, though.”

“Xander,” he replied, absently turning another page, “if you are fishing for details, you won’t get any, so I advise you to give up right now.”

“I could make it worth your while,” he sing-songed.

Giles snapped the book closed. “What do you have to offer that could possibly tempt me into an agreement like that?”

Xander leaned forward predatorily. “I can get Anya to stop talking about the hot monkey loving going on in our apartment every night.”

Giles hesitated. “You could do that?”

“Guaranteed. I threaten to cut her off if she says a word, she’ll fall right in line.”

He thought about that. “I’d want that in writing.”

“Give me a pen.”

“I’m not going to give you every intimate detail,” Giles insisted, handing over a ballpoint from his jacket pocket.

Xander began scribbling furiously away on the back of a magazine subscription card. “Broad strokes is all I’m asking, my friend.”

Giles waited for Xander to finish writing, then took the card from him and read it over. “Fine,” he conceded. “What do you want to know?”

“Start at the beginning, G-man.”

“You had better follow through on this,” he grumbled threateningly. “And I’ve asked you not to call me that.”

Xander grinned unapologetically.

“Fine. I was having drinks with Ethan last fall . . .”

It was the first time he had ever seen Xander pay such rapt attention to anything.

 

 

Something had been nagging at Ethan all day, like a fly batting itself against a window pane. He tried to focus on it, but couldn’t pin it down.

Until the Slayer’s boyfriend bumped into him.

The young man had been pacing the waiting room off and on for hours, the enforced inactivity too much for him. It was during one of these circuits that Ethan rose to get some more coffee and accidentally collided with him.

A window in Ethan’s mind opened and he could feel the waves of incipient chaos hovering about the boy, waiting to be unleashed to devastating effect. And he knew instantly the cause of it.

“Excuse me,” Ethan said softly, continuing on to get the coffee as though nothing had happened. But he never took his eyes off the boy. Ethan watched him do several more circuits, determining his pattern, before following him into the remote corner of his path.

He stood in the boy’s way when he turned to retrace his steps. “A bit warm for turtlenecks, isn’t it?”

“I’m comfortable,” the boy replied coldly.

“I’m sure you are, with the evidence of your indiscretions covered up so nicely.”

The boy’s hand went to his throat.

“Or do you let them use your arm instead?” Ethan continued. “Those marks are a lot easier to cover up. Really, vampire whores? Isn’t that a bit common? Not to mention stupid, considering you’re dating the Slayer.”

“You can’t tell her . . .”

“No,” Ethan interrupted him coldly. “You’re the one who can’t tell me what to do. I have the cards here, and you dealt them to me. I’ll tell you what you are going to do. For the next several days, you are going to be the attentive, supportive boyfriend until Joyce is out of the woods. Then you are going to find a very plausible reason to go very far away and stay there. You will not try to see or talk to Buffy ever again without first clearing it with me or Rupert. And yes,” he interrupted the boy’s protest, “I will be telling Rupert all about this. It’s his Slayer you’re endangering, he’s going to want to know all about it. And keeping secrets from him is not in my best interests. Now, have I made myself understood?”

He gritted his teeth. “Perfectly.”

“Excellent.” Ethan clapped him on the shoulder. “Maybe you aren’t as stupid as you look. Now go back to your girl. She needs you right now. And smile. It will all be over soon.”

 

 

They were all on edge as the surgery moved into its sixth hour. Nerves were frayed, and the friends had begun snapping at each other when the doctor finally came back out. The Slayer went to talk to him while the rest of them hung back.

“I think your mother's going to be fine.”

There was a whoop of relief from all those assembled as Buffy threw herself into Rupert’s arms. Ethan was startled a moment later when Dawn did the same thing to him, her slender arms wrapped around his waist as her whole body vibrated with joy. Uncertainly he returned the gesture, holding her back and head as he squeezed gently. She backed off a moment later, her face radiant with relief. Then she ran off to hug someone else.

Rupert came over to him then, and they both could read the relief in each other’s faces. The depth of their emotion perhaps called for more, but they settled for the more socially acceptable shaking of hands and slapping of shoulders.

“She’s going to be all right,” Rupert repeated, emotion thickening his voice.

Ethan nodded, not releasing his hand. “Now it’s our job to make sure she stays that way. Let’s get this bitch, Ripper.”

Buffy turned from her friends to face him, speaking to him for the first time. “Finally, something we agree on,” she said coldly, then turned to Rupert. “Let’s get her, Giles.”

He nodded emphatically. “There’s no place deep enough for her to hide from us now. Let’s do this.”


	8. Two Riders Were Approaching

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rupert needs to sleep, Ethan tries to help

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place during the events of the episode Into the Woods and the night of Hear You Sing Around the Watch.

The moment they got back to the house, Rupert hung his jacket up and sat back down to work.

Ethan watched in amazement as the other man opened three references and pulled up a legal pad to begin taking notes. Finally, Ethan had to speak. “You aren’t seriously doing research now.”

“You were the one who said it was time,” he said, not looking up from the books. “To do that, we’re going to need information.” He began making notations on the pad.

“And how much sleep did you get last night?”

“Enough.”

“Meaning you slept for an hour or two in fifteen minute bursts. Go to bed, Rupert.”

“Later.”

Ethan slammed his hand down in the middle of Rupert’s notebook. “You can’t help her if you’re exhausted. Go to bed.”

“I said,” he growled, snatching the pad out from under Ethan’s hand, “later.”

“I’m going to need you, too, you know. You have knowledge, a connection to Cassandra I don’t have. I need you fit and rested when we take her on.”

“You go to bed.” Rupert turned back to the books. “I’ll go up later.”

“Fine,” Ethan snarled in frustration and started to storm off to the guest room. But he stopped in the archway. Rupert had to be exhausted. The last week had not been conducive to sleep for any of them, but least of all him. If Ethan could just get him to lie down, he was sure Rupert would fall asleep. But he wouldn’t listen to reason, so Ethan would have to find another way.

He grinned wickedly.

Moving silently, he slipped up behind Rupert to ghost light kisses along the sensitive nape of his neck.

Rupert shivered at the contact, but brushed him away. “Stop that.”

Ethan of course did no such thing. Instead, he shifted his attention to the corded muscles along Rupert’s throat, scraping his teeth gently up the length of one before softly biting down.

Rupert leaned back, groaning instinctively. Ethan was fairly sure he even closed his eyes.

His mouth still working, Ethan slipped one arm over Rupert’s shoulder, unbuttoning the top two buttons of his shirt to allow Ethan to slide one hand in and caress the planes of Rupert’s chest. “I know I am a poor substitute for her,” he purred against Rupert’s ear, “but won’t you let me bring you some peace?”

Rupert rose to his feet at that, turning to face Ethan, a look of sadness and compassion on his face. “You are never a substitute,” he said simply before leaning forward to claim Ethan’s mouth with his own.

Ethan was surprised by that kiss. Rupert’s firm mouth was gentle, giving as they explored each other. It was a generous kiss, and Ethan found he couldn’t resist responding in kind.

He wasn’t sure how long they stood there, enjoying the pressure of each other’s mouths, tongues softly dueling, before Ethan pulled back. “Come to bed,” he murmured.

This time Rupert nodded.

Ethan took his hand and led him up the stairs to Rupert’s bedroom, the site of so many of their encounters. When they reached the loft, Rupert surprised him by pushing him up against the wall to resume their mouth play. As one, they reached for the buttons on each other’s shirt and within moments Ethan felt the wonderfully coarse palms of Rupert’s hands sliding over his own bare chest. Ethan pushed Rupert’s shirt aside and bent his head to attend one flat nipple and then the other. Rupert sucked in a breath, hands resting gently on Ethan’s head. “You’ve always known what I like,” he sighed softly.

“Made for each other,” Ethan murmured back.

Rupert drew him back up, pinning Ethan’s hands to the wall. “I don’t know that I’d go that far.” But the intimate kiss he followed with softened the harsh words. Taking both Ethan’s hands in his larger one, Rupert’s other hand dropped to the waist of Ethan’s trousers as he finished undressing him, never letting up on the slow, sensuous exploration of their mouths.

Ethan kicked his shoes off as he leaned further into Rupert’s kiss, enjoying the warm velvet of their chests pressed together, the friction of Rupert’s cotton slacks against his own bare erection. He ground their hips together, making Rupert smile against his mouth.

Twisting their fingers together again, Rupert lowered Ethan’s arms to draw him over to the bed, pushing him lightly to sit on the mattress. Ethan’s heart rate impossibly sped up. This wasn’t a common enough occurrence for him to expect it in any of their encounters, so when Rupert dropped to the floor between his legs, he moaned in anticipation.

“Steady on,” Rupert murmured with a chuckle. “You don’t want to miss the best part.”

Too right he didn’t! He drew several deep, calming breaths as Rupert rubbed his beard roughened face along the insides of Ethan’s thighs, placing wet kisses along the tender flesh there as he moved his way up. The first contact of his mouth with Ethan’s sac made Ethan groan all over again. He took his time, kissing them all over before gently sucking them into his mouth where he massaged each in turn between tongue and palate. Ethan’s hips shifted in response, and when he moved to slide the width of his tongue up Ethan’s length, Ethan’s hand came up automatically to rest on his head. “Christ, Ripper!”

Rupert wrapped his hand around Ethan’s glans as he looked up into his partner’s eyes. “I’m sorry, Ripper’s not here tonight. You’ll have to make due with me.”

Still breathing heavily, Ethan stroked his coarse hair. “That’s alright,” he said hoarsely. “I think I like Rupert better, anyway.”

Rupert nodded with a smile before bending his head back to his work.

Ethan knew Rupert appreciated his oral skills, but he found it hard to believe he could be as good as Rupert. Using lips and tongue and teeth, he wrung every pleasurable sound possible from Ethan for what felt like an eternity. Ethan savored it, reveled in it, this special gift he didn’t know he had earned. Finally, Ethan’s fingers tightened in Rupert’s hair, encouraging him to move faster, deeper, without forcing his head. Rupert understood and picked up the pace, pressing down hard with his tongue on each stroke to make his mouth virgin tight. Ethan’s pelvis thrust up before he could stop himself, but Rupert seemed ready for it, his free hand resting on Ethan’s hip to hold him down as his left jerked tightly around Ethan’s shaft, rising up to meet his descending mouth over and over. It was exquisite, and finally Ethan could hold out no longer. “Now,” he growled mere instants before the tight muscles in his core released explosively and he came hard. Rupert didn’t pull away, just retreated a little to allow room for Ethan’s load, swallowing quickly as he continued caressing with the soft insides of his mouth, his hand working furiously to draw out every last drop.

Eventually Ethan just collapsed, unable to support his own posture in the wake of his release. Rupert finished slowly, easing off to prevent the shock of abandonment after such close contact. Finally he rose to his feet and stood watching Ethan’s recovery, questioning and just a bit smug.

Ethan saw the question and nodded briefly. “Just . . . give me a minute . . . to catch my breath,” he said, then added explosively, “God! You’re good at that.”

The smugness increased, as Rupert stepped away to finish undressing as well. “I had a good teacher.”

“I’ll have to kiss myself the next time I look in the mirror.”

Rupert just chuckled.

Ethan heard the thunk of shoes being kicked off, and then a jingle of change as Rupert tossed his pants over the arm of the chair. Then the bed next to Ethan sagged as Rupert lay down against the pillows at the head of the bed.

With a soft groan, Ethan rolled over and slowly crawled up the bed until he was face to face with his lover. “How do you want me?”

Rupert leaned forward to kiss him again, and Ethan gave himself over eagerly to the decadent caress. Their mouths slanted back and forth, tongues teasing lightly, before Ethan felt Rupert’s hands on his hips, shifting him to straddle Rupert’s waist. Ethan broke the kiss long enough to remark, “This is new.”

Rupert changed the kisses to short, emphatic counterpoints to his words. “Is it so wrong for me to enjoy having my lover on top?”

“As long as you retain control, you mean,” Ethan chided, reaching into the bedside table for the bottle of lubricant.

Holding out his hand for Ethan to squeeze the cool glide on, Rupert looked up into his eyes. “I think we both lost all control of this quite some time ago.”

As he felt Rupert’s cock prodding for entry, he could only agree.

They both groaned aloud as Ethan shifted to sink down on Rupert’s thick shaft. Together they moved slowly at first, adjusting to this new position, steadily increasing in speed and force as they grew accustomed to it. Ethan bent forward to capture Rupert’s mouth in a hard, possessive kiss as he rode him, Rupert’s hands cascading down his back to grip his ass, tugging and pushing faster and harder. Ethan lifted his head to watch Rupert’s head slowly fall back, his face twisting in pleasure with each stroke. “That’s it, Rupert,” Ethan coaxed, his voice rough with his own re-building desire. “Just enjoy it.”

“Can’t help it,” Rupert replied shortly, his hips moving in time to their strokes. “Fuck, you feel good.”

Ethan would have blushed at the compliment if his blood weren’t busy doing other things. He leaned back to kiss him again, enjoying the feel of one of Rupert’s hands on his hip and one in his hair as he felt his second release building apace with Rupert’s.

With a growl, Rupert ripped his head away, thrusting up with a shuddering “Fuck, Ethan!” as he came hard, spending deep inside him. The added pressure and the sounds of Rupert’s own release was enough to drive Ethan into his. “Ah, Christ!”

They held each other like that afterwards, curled close around each other as they whispered silent curses of satisfaction. Ethan was the first to move, sliding off with an almost whimper as Rupert slipped out of him. But Rupert didn’t let him get far, rolling on his side to tangle his legs through Ethan’s and draping an arm around his waist. Ethan was surprised again by the easy possession in the gesture, as though he were something worth having. Hesitantly, he laid his own arm over Rupert’s shoulder.

Rupert opened his eyes lazily to study him. “You were just trying to get me to sleep, weren’t you?”

Ethan smiled wryly. “So much for that idea.”

“No, I think it worked fairly well.” He closed his eyes again. “I couldn’t move right now if you paid me.”

“In that case, that was my intention all along.”

“Smug bastard.”

“Get some rest, Rupert,” Ethan said softly. “Your loved ones are all safe for the moment. It’s alright to rest.”

Rupert mumbled something incoherent, his breathing already slowing.

Ethan waited a few moments before carefully starting to disentangle himself from Rupert’s long limbs, only to be startled by the sound of his voice.

“If you try to leave me alone in this bed, I swear in the morning I will pound your ass with a cricket bat.”

Ethan subsided, but couldn’t resist replying, “That could be fun.”

“It wasn’t an offer, you wank,” Rupert replied petulantly.

“Spoilsport.”


	9. There Are Many Here Among Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joyce finds out what’s been going on in her absence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place a week after the events of Hear You Sing Around the Watch and Two Riders Were Approachin’.

The warm water felt good on Joyce’s weakened muscles. All the drugs and the trauma of the surgery and a week spent in bed had left her frail and easily tired. But she couldn’t stand to face another day alone in that bed. She wasn’t allowed to wash her hair yet. The stitches needed to stay dry for another four or five days, regardless of how disgusting she felt. But the loofa and a tube of exotic smelling orange blossom body wash Willow and Tara had gotten her went a long way to waking up her skin and making her feel almost human again.

The feel of real clothes on her body helped, too. It surprised her how something as simple as slipping on a pair of blue jeans could have such a profound effect on your fame of mind. A striped, scoop necked sweater and a pair of mules finished the outfit. There wasn’t much she could do about her hair besides brush all the snarls out gently, being careful of the incision she couldn’t quite see, and then covering it all in a large, festive silk scarf.

She was just making a final check of her makeup when Buffy came in, looking grave. She stopped in surprise in the doorway. “Wow! You with the actual clothing, who are you?”

Joyce smiled wanly. “I thought I’d make an attempt to join the human race. As I understand it, there are millions of people out there I’m not related to by blood.”

Buffy’s face darkened. “A couple of them are here. That’s why I came up.”

“Oh?” She turned to slip a pair of small hoops into her ear piercings.

“Your bo . . .” Buffy paused, then sighed with a frustration that surprised Joyce. “Giles and Ethan are here. There are a couple of things we need to talk to you about.”

Joyce’s heart started fluttering anxiously, but she kept it off her face. “Oh? What about?”

“It’s complicated.” Buffy didn’t meet her eyes. “It’s better if you hear it from all of us.”

“Alright, I’ll be right down.”

Buffy hesitated in the doorway, then with a shrug, disappeared back down the hall.

Joyce’s mom-sense warned her that whatever they needed to talk about, it wasn’t going to be pretty.

She made her way gingerly down the stairs, her equilibrium still not one hundred percent. When she got to the bottom, she found Rupert and Ethan sitting kitty-corner from each other at the dining room table, talking softly. She could hear Buffy banging around in the kitchen, presumably doing the dishes, so she took the chance of laying a hand on Rupert’s shoulder and offering Ethan the other. “What’s going on?” she asked quietly as Ethan took her hand between both of his, caressing it gently.

“Quite a bit, actually,” Rupert replied, reaching up to cover her hand with his own warm, calloused one. She trembled slightly at the mutual touch, surprised at how much she had missed the both of them.

“Do you think it’s such a good idea to come over here? Buffy’s bound to ask questions.”

There was a rattling clank of pans being dropped unceremoniously into the sink.

Rupert winced. “She knows already.”

Ethan didn’t try to hide his smirk. “Hence the Eighteen-Twelve Overture being played in your kitchen.”

She pulled her hands away. “She knows? How did she find out?”

He looked less confident when he confessed, “We told her.”

“You . . .?” Joyce was stunned. “Why on earth would you do that? It wasn’t your place . . .”

Rupert halted her by standing up and laying a hand on her arm. “Joyce, we had no choice. You were too sick, we had to make a decision. We tried to be as delicate about it as we could be . . .”

Ethan snorted.

Rupert glared at him. “. . . and we haven’t been pressing the issue since then. Frankly, I think she’s resorted to her usual tactic with things she doesn’t want to hear.”

Joyce sighed. “Ignoring them until they go away?” He nodded. “You know, she didn’t talk to me for two solid months after we told her about the divorce. She used Dawn as a translator the entire . . .” She stopped, remembering what she had seen, what Buffy had confirmed about Dawn.

Rupert squeezed her arm gently. “That’s one of the things we need to talk about.”

Ethan was studying her quietly. “Perhaps we’d better get on with this. The sooner we get it over with, the sooner Joyce can get back to resting.”

“Do I look that bad?” She touched her headscarf self-consciously.

“You look lovely, my dear,” he assured her, smiling at her uncertainty. “Just more than a bit tired.”

She sank down into the chair opposite him. “I am, actually. Who knew it took so much energy just to get dressed?”

He winked at her. “Then I shouldn’t bother, if I were you.”

“If you are able to flirt,” Rupert said with false sternness, “I believe we should get started. Buffy,” he called to the other room. “Whenever you are ready.”

One final thunderous crash of metal sounded in the other room, followed by silence. Joyce heard Buffy mutter to herself, although she couldn’t make out the words, and a part of her was suddenly grateful that Rupert and Ethan had born the brunt of her daughter’s initial reaction. Buffy finally appeared in the doorway, her face composed, methodically drying her hands with a dish towel. She dropped the towel over the back of her chair as she sat down next to Joyce. For a moment, Joyce couldn’t help but wonder if her choice of seating was deliberate, as Joyce now would have to turn away from the men any time she wanted to talk to Buffy. “So,” Buffy started without any preamble, “I guess they’ve told you a couple of things have come up in the last few weeks.”

Joyce looked at all their serious faces. “I’m getting that impression.”

“We didn’t tell you sooner,” Rupert added, “because we didn’t want you to worry. We didn’t know enough, and you needed to conserve your strength for the surgery.”

“I’m fine now,” she said impatiently.

“Which is why we’re here now,” Ethan said soothingly. “But it isn’t anything that will be easy to hear, even now. Do you think you’re prepared?”

Only Ethan would think to ask her that question, and do so in all seriousness. She braced herself, going so far as to buttress her arms on the table in front of her. “Tell me.”

Giles looked to Buffy for some sort of confirmation, speaking when he apparently received it. “Buffy told us you realized Dawn’s unusual origins while you were sick.”

Joyce nodded slightly. “I know she’s not mine.”

“It’s a bit more complex than that. Physically, she _is_ yours. She’s made from Buffy, and so her body is still genetically a creation of yours and your ex-husband’s DNA. She is the child you could have had. Her spiritual essence, however, is that of an ancient mystical key of unknown and untold power.” He explained what they had been able to learn so far. Joyce listened in growing dismay as he recounted Ethan’s original sensing of Dawn’s presence, Buffy’s first meeting with Glory, and the results of Buffy’s meditation. She knew they were holding something back, but the story kept going before she could force the issue. Rupert didn’t seem to keep anything else from her, describing Glory’s strength and abilities in graphic detail. She steadily grew more horrified as he went on. “My god,” she finally stopped him. “What do we do? How do we keep Dawn safe from this monster?”

“You keep her secret,” Ethan said calmly. “As long as no one knows the location of this key, the child is safe.”

“And if she finds out?”

“I’ll be here,” Buffy said definitively. “The semester’s almost done. I’ll finish up, and then take a leave next term. Then I can be here if anything happens.”

“Buffy, you can’t live your life in this house. You’ve got your slaying, your friends, Riley . . .”

Buffy dropped her head, biting at her suddenly trembling lip.

Joyce looked at the others in confusion. “What? What happened?”

“Riley left several days ago,” Rupert said regretfully. “He’s joined a deep cover paramilitary group, doing the kind of work he had been doing with the Initiative. He’d received the offer a while ago, but he didn’t want to leave Buffy when you were so sick.”

“Oh, baby!” She put her arm around Buffy’s shoulders comfortingly. “I’m so sorry.”

Buffy let Joyce comfort her for a moment, then shrugged her off without saying a word.

Ethan’s eyes were narrow as he studied Buffy critically, but when he spoke, his voice was calm and even. “I have wards around the house that should keep out anything short of a god.”

“Because that worked so well the last time,” Buffy commented snidely.

Joyce was surprised at Ethan’s forbearance in the face of Buffy’s attitude. “That was entirely different. Because she was made from you, she actually belonged in the house. The laws of association pulled her through the shields before depositing her where the rewritten history had placed her.”

“Wait, wait,” Joyce interrupted. “Re-written history? You mean history’s actually been changed?”

“Oh, yes,” he said, obviously impressed with the spell he was describing. “This was much more than a simple memory alteration spell. When she achieved manifestation, the energy of it flooded the entire timeline. You don’t just think you experienced your life with her, you actually did, albeit retroactively.”

Joyce let her brain work around the mechanics of that thought. “Wouldn’t that require an enormous amount of energy?”

“Precisely,” Rupert confirmed.

“Which is why,” Buffy finally contributed, “until we find out what this Key can do, we keep Dawn as far away from Glory as we can.”

“Unfortunately,” Rupert continued, “as intimidating as Glory is, we have a more pressing concern at the moment. Glory has been fairly quiet and for the moment Dawn is safe. You, however, are not.”

“Me?” Joyce asked in surprise. “No one is trying to hurt me.”

“No, you’re quite right,” Ethan agreed. Rupert and Buffy both glared at him until he added, “She already has hurt you. Badly.”

Buffy put her hand over Joyce’s, drawing her attention. “Giles didn’t tell you the reason I did the tirer meditation. It was because I thought somehow your cancer was being caused by something. Something mystical.”

“Oh, honey.” She covered Buffy’s hand in turn. “People just get sick. There isn’t always a reason . . .”

“I was right.”

Joyce froze.

“I saw a mark. In the middle of your forehead. A fist closed over an eye. It was a representation of a magical working that had been done on you.”

Joyce swallowed. “Someone used magic on me? To try to . . .”

“To kill you,” Rupert finished. “Yes.”

The world became very gray suddenly.

“Mom?”

She tried to speak, but she couldn’t seem to put words into any logical order.

“Joyce? Joyce!”

The words echoed as though inside a tin can, messages from a submarine. She felt large, rough hands chafing at her wrists, and just let herself sink into the hot darkness reaching out for her.

“Ethan, help me get her on the couch.”

“I’ll do it.”

Who were they moving?

“How’s her pulse?”

“Steady. She’ll be all right. It’s just the shock.”

“Here.” She tried to identify this third voice, but it was too much work. “Have her drink this.”

Cool glass touched her lips, and a moment later something acrid burned its way down her throat, shocking her back to alertness. She came to lying on the couch, with Rupert kneeling on the floor near her head, stroking her hair back soothingly as Buffy knelt at her waist, holding her hand like a fragile egg. Ethan sat on the coffee table between them, his eyes never leaving her face, the glass of scotch in his hands. They all sighed in relief when she opened her eyes.

“More,” she croaked.

Ethan smirked and offered her the glass as Rupert sat her up.

“Geez, Mom, you scared me. I thought you were having an aneurysm or something!”

“I scared you?” Joyce glared at her daughter over the rim of the glass. “You may be used to people trying to kill you all the time, but it’s rather new for me.” She swallowed the last of the scotch down in one quick mouthful.

Ethan took the glass from her. “More?”

She shook her head. “Why would someone want to kill me? I’m not a threat to anyone, and anything I have anyone could want would just go to the girls if I die. Is it this Glory person? Is she trying to use me to make the girls vulnerable?”

“It’s not Glory,” Rupert admitted. “It’s Cassandra Jameson.”

“Who?”

Ethan snorted, and Rupert sighed. “She’ll be pleased she made such an impression on you both,” Rupert said grimly. “You remember her. The woman from the club in London.”

And suddenly Joyce did remember her. Remembered her instinctive distrust and dislike of the woman, reactions she had written off as jealousy. She cocked an eyebrow at Ethan.

“I know, believe me, I know, and I will grovel in the face of your superior intuition later. But now we have more important things to worry about.”

Rupert drew her attention back. “Can you recall if Cassandra touched you at all that night? I know you didn’t shake hands . . .”

“That was kind of rude,” Buffy said, surprising Joyce. She had so slid into comfortable conversation with the two men, Joyce had forgotten Buffy was even there.

She squeezed Buffy’s hand in acknowledgement. “I was feeling pretty rude that night. But no,” she turned back to Rupert, “I don’t think she ever did.”

“She was probably responsible for that creation in the alley,” Ethan said thoughtfully. “Testing just how far you would go to protect Joyce.”

“She would have had enough power,” Rupert started to agree.

“The alley!” She whipped around in sudden realization. “When I went out to the alley, she followed me. I think she put her hand on my shoulder to get my attention.”

The two men sat back in resigned acknowledgement. “That’s it,” Ethan’s voice was rough.

“That’s what?” she asked.

“That’s when Cassandra got her hook in you,” Rupert explained. “She made a connection that night that she exploited later to trigger your cancer. And will use again if we don’t stop her.”

“But why?” Joyce asked indignantly. “She’s not going to all this trouble just because I’m seeing her ex-boyfriend.”

“Giles!” Buffy sounded shocked. Apparently they hadn’t told her that part.

Rupert headed it off before they could get distracted. “It has nothing to do with that. It’s about the other part of our relationship.”

“The Council?”

He nodded. “And Buffy. Cassandra always wanted a place of prominence on the Council, and has decided that the best way to get it is by getting Buffy back under Council control. She thinks that by bringing pressure to bear on you, I can be convinced to bring Buffy back in line.”

Buffy squeezed Joyce’s hand. “It just about worked, too. When you were getting operated on, I’d have done just about anything to keep you safe.”

Joyce put her arm around her daughter, drawing her close to kiss the top of her head. “I wouldn’t want that for you, Buffy. They don’t care about you as a person. You deserve better than that.”

“Fortunately,” Ethan said smugly, “the cow didn’t realize Rupert had an ace in the hole.”

“Do you think you can take her?”

“After what she’s put you through?” His face turned dark. “I think I can make her suffer all the tortures of hell as well.”

“That’s not what this is about, Ethan,” Rupert said sternly. “We just want to stop her and take her into custody. We’ll return her to the Council. Let them be made to face their own mistakes.”

“But how? Why haven’t you stopped her already?”

“We haven’t been able to find her,” Ethan admitted. “But if Mohammed won’t come to the mountain . . . There may be a way to get her to come to us. However, I want you feeling a bit stronger before we try it. Let Rupert and I hammer out the details for a few days.”

“Whatever you say.” She threw up her hands in exasperation. “I’m totally out of my depth here. I’ll just have to sit back and be the damsel in distress again.”

“You’re no damsel,” Ethan said fiercely. “And giving up isn’t your way. Get angry, Joyce. Think about what this woman tried to do to you, to your daughter, to Rupert. I need you angry. I need you ready to fight. I can use that when it comes time to fight her. Surrender now and you weaken me.”

She met his eyes, saw the familiar dark flicker of violence and chaos dance there for a moment. “All right,” she promised. “I’ll remember.”

He smiled. “That’s my girl.”

“Is there anything else I should know? Is Dawn pregnant? Did the Republicans win the election?”

Rupert smiled. “Well, the last still hasn’t been decided. But no, all else seems relatively quiet at the moment. At least for us.”

“The eye of the storm,” Buffy said ominously.

He didn’t dispute her. “Unfortunately apt. But you should take this opportunity to rest as much as you can. We’re going to need you strong before the week is out.” When he stood, Ethan followed him. Joyce rose as well.

Rupert protested. “Joyce, you needn’t . . .”

“Go.” She pointed with authority. “It’s on my way back to bed, anyway.”

They paused in the foyer, aware of Buffy’s presence on the couch still. Joyce took matters into her own hands. “All right, etiquette for kissing in front of the kids. You,” she said sternly to Rupert, “will do it once in a while.” And she used his tie to pull him down to lightly brush his lips with hers, enjoying the electric tingle that always followed such a caress. Then she turned to Ethan. “And _you_ will not use tongue.” And she repeated the gentle caress on him, reveling in the quick wash of fire it provoked.

His hands caught her hips lightly as he drew her close to whisper in her ear. “I wouldn’t mind keeping you company in bed.”

She trembled, but smiled coyly up at him. “But then I probably really would have an aneurysm, and where’s the fun in that?”

He laughed richly and brushed another light kiss over her mouth. Then he followed Rupert out into the bright afternoon.

When Joyce turned, Buffy was rising off the couch, her face a fury. Joyce sighed internally. “Would you like to talk about this?”

Buffy looked at her coldly, layers of judgment and anger and betrayal behind her eyes. “No, not really.” And she turned to storm off to the kitchen.

Exhaustion caught up with Joyce as she started up the stairs and back to bed. And maybe if she covered her head with the blanket and wished real hard, when she woke up, it would all have been a bad dream.


	10. I Can’t Get No Relief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ethan and Rupert fight fire with fire. And earth and air and water . . .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place several days after the events of There Are Many Here Among Us and a few days before the episode Triangle. 
> 
> WARNING: Do not try any of the herbal concoctions listed in this chapter. These are DANGEROUS combinations of herbs that should never be ingested except under tightly controlled circumstances and with experienced supervision. Remember, this is fiction, people. I can control who lives or dies here, but not in the real world, so be smart.

“Are you daft? I don’t have time for this!”

Ethan and Rupert hadn’t had a serious argument in quite some time. Apparently they were going to change that today. In front of the children.

Rupert stayed calm in the face of Ethan’s protest. “We don’t have time, period. Tara and Willow both have experience with high magic ritual as well as being proficient low magic practitioners. With their help you can be ready in half the time.”

“Not if I have to explain every bloody thing to them as we go. See reason, Ripper!”

The two girls stood by the doorway of the training room, eyes wide as they gripped each other’s hand. Probably worried how far the volatile sorcerer would go to win his point.

Good.

Unfortunately, it had no impact on Rupert. “They are smart girls, they’ll pick it up quickly. And they know the contents of the shop as well as I do. I don’t expect you to include them in the ritual itself, but let them help you with the prep work.”

“Are you really willing to make Joyce’s life a case study for your little coven?”

Rupert studied him critically for a moment, then turned to the girls. “Willow, would you and Tara please go across to the hardware store and get a quart of white latex primer paint? We can infuse it with the proper materials for the floor markings Ethan’s going to need.”

“Sure, Giles.” Relief was evident in the redhead’s face. “Do you have an account there?”

“Just ask Anya for money out of the till.”

“’Kay.” But they were already gone.

He shut the door behind them and turned back to Ethan. “What’s really going on?”

Ethan turned back to his notebook on the counter. “The redhead’s not stable. I don’t want her within a hundred yards of this.”

“Willow’s had some mishaps, certainly, but she’s had some impressive successes as well. I’m certain you’re overreacting . . .”

“Mishaps?” He turned back to Rupert, his tone incredulous. “I’m surprised she hasn’t taken out half the town. Her girlfriend is likely the only thing keeping her from flying apart. For pity’s sake, Rupert, have you even looked at her lately?”

“You don’t know her.” But he was glad to hear Rupert’s tone was less certain. “She’s just young.”

“So were we, once. We took care of that fairly quickly.”

That hit home with painful precision.

Before Rupert could protest any further, Ethan cut him off. “Fine. I’ll take on your little tyros. But I want them gone when it’s time for the working. I won’t be distracted by groupies.”

“Groupies?”

“And Rupert,” he kept his tone ominous, ignoring the comment, “you get that girl under control. She’s a threat to Joyce, and I won’t allow that. You take her in hand, or I will.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“No. I’m giving you fair warning. Get it done. You,” he pointed forcefully at the blonde witch, who had reappeared in the doorway with her girlfriend, “how’s your drawing hand?”

“I’m nnnnnot very goooood,” she stuttered nervously. “Bbbbut I can copy things alrrrright.”

“Congratulations, you’ll be spending the afternoon on your knees. And you,” he ripped a page out of the notebook and shoved it in the redhead's hands, taking the paint from her. “Get me these ingredients. Now.”

Eyes wide with fear, she disappeared back into the store.

“Ethan,” Rupert chided him. “They’re only children.”

“They don’t have time to be children, Ripper, not today. You asked for this, now get out of here and let me work.” Turning his back on Rupert, he handed the blonde a piece of chalk. “Mark out a nine foot circle in the center of the floor. We’ll start from there . . .”

 

 

They weren’t as worthless as Ethan had feared. The blonde especially had remarkable patience in the face of his curt demands. Her stutter seemed to be more a nervous condition rather than a speech impediment, and her drawing hand was steady enough, so he eased off on her, even occasionally explaining some of the sigils they were scribing in chalk. She was uncertain of him, he could sense that much, but she didn’t seem afraid of him. Of course, she had never seen him in action.

The other one had, though, and was doing her best to keep as far away from him as possible. He checked over the ingredients she had gathered, sending her back twice with corrections, then leaving her to Rupert to supervise the paint infusion for the inscription. Him she questioned constantly, and he answered every question patiently. Ethan knew he would have killed her before they were done, had it been him.

Once everything was chalked out to his satisfaction, he gave the three of them small brushes and jars of the infused paint and supervised them as they painted in the lines as he worked on several mixtures of his own. An anointing oil for Joyce of cypress, cedar and frankincense in an almond oil base. A robust red wine packed with mugwort, dragon’s blood and just a trace of datura, set to warm on Rupert’s hot plate. As he worked, he cast a critical eye across the floor, watching for errors and smudges. He cast rowan and iron filings into a pestle, grinding it all very fine before adding several other things until he had half a cup of chalky powder. This he poured into a spherical, wide mouthed jar and stoppered.

Rupert rose up on his knees and cracked his back. “Is all this really necessary, Ethan?” His tone was uncertain and just a little bit self-pitying.

“No,” Ethan didn’t look up from his work. “I just like having you on your knees in front of me.” He couldn’t help a small smirk at the wide-eyed look the girls gave each other from their places on the floor. “Of course it’s all necessary, Ripper. The inner markings are to keep Joyce’s essence from drifting away, while the sigils outside the circle will hopefully hamper Cassandra when she shows.”

“If.”

“No, when,” Ethan insisted. “I’m not giving her the option of staying away. The real question is how. We’re going to have to be alert. Oh, and cover those voudon markings on the walls. Except the Ellegua one,” he pointed to the elaborate cross on the back wall. “I can use that.”

The girls kept working while Rupert got a handful of altar cloths and a roll of duct tape from the other room. “Western colors or tattwas?”

“Tattwa.”

Rupert nodded and carefully affixed a red cloth over the art on the south wall of the room, silver on the west and yellow on the north, leaving the east wall exposed.

The girls finished and, gathering up their art supplies, carefully stepped out of the pattern. The twelve-foot square encompassed the circle, each quarter of which was marked out with an elemental symbol. Outside the circle was a ring of warding as well as a number of telesmatic sigils that would store attack spells when properly charged, magical land mines should Cassandra get too close.

Ethan came out from behind the counter to pace around the image, carefully studying it from all sides. He took a brush and jar from the blonde and touched up a line here, sharpened a curve there, added an extra glyph until it was as perfect a form as he could make it. Finally, he nodded in acquiescence. “Acceptable. Thank you.”

“But what does it do?” the redhead finally asked.

Ethan just glared at her. “You are free to go,” he said coldly.

“I’ll explain it,” Rupert said placatingly. “Let’s leave Ethan to finish his preparations. Do you need anything else?” he asked Ethan while escorting the girls out of the room.

“Just peace.”

Rupert nodded and closed the door behind him.

Ethan took a deep breath and grounded his energies. He had a bare few hours to make this space his own, to make the energies and essence of the place respond to him as naturally as if he had been working here for years. It was the only advantage he would have over her.

He moved jar candles in to sit between the elemental glyphs of the circle, one at each cross quarter, lighting each as he set them in place. Outside the circle, where the shape became more square, he set and lit more candles until there was a soft glow to the room that had little to do with the setting sunlight.

He removed his shirt and anointed himself with the oil he had made, feeling the warm disconnect of trance slip over him as he inscribed familiar markings of blessing and focus over his forehead, his throat and his heart. Then he moved into the center of the form, sitting cross-legged in the middle of the circle as he let the trance take him fully.

Facing east, he focused on the sigil on the wall, representing the African god Legba, or Eleggua. He was a trickster god in his own right, and guardian of thresholds and crossroads, so similar to Ethan’s own patron Janus. It was this similarity Ethan drew on as he began the invocation made familiar by years of use. “The world that denies thee, thou inhabit. The peace that ignores thee, thou corrupt. Chaos. I remain, as ever, thy faithful, degenerate son.”

The sense of divine presence flooded him, feeding him as much as his blood and bile did. This was the source of his power, and he gave thanks for it. Normally healing wasn’t in his repertoire, as it was too much an action of order, but with the right focus and appeal, the combination of healing and combat planned for this evening should satisfy Janus’ hungry appetites.

Without opening his eyes, he shifted his focus to the form etched around him. He let the energy flow out from him to trace the lines, charging them, empowering them. Each of the telesmatic glyphs he focused on individually, tracing every line in energy as he filled it with its intended action, locking the spell in place until the line was crossed by someone it didn’t recognize. Next the circle itself, a ring of restrained force which he would activate when they were all in place. And finally, one by one, each of the element glyphs, earth, air, fire, water, each charged yellow, blue, red and silver and powered with all his knowledge and understanding of each. When he was done, the whole form glowed a rainbow luminescence, all responsive to his every command. He was master here now.

He took up the globe jar, the powder half filling it. Drawing in more energy, he charged it as well, preparing it for its role in the working. One last surprise for the sorceress. Bitch.

When he finished, he lapsed into quiet meditation, visualizing the actions of the working, preparing for all contingencies. Slowly he extended his senses, out through the store, sensing the demon girl bustling about, preparing for the early closing, aware when her boy arrived to pick her up. He extended it out beyond the front and back, barely noticing the pedestrian passing by, the workers from the surrounding shops slipping into the alley off and on for a fag. He was indifferent to them, but he was aware of them. He slowly built up that layer of awareness, so it stood unsupported on its own. The demon girl and her boy stopped for a quick snog, then finally left, locking up the front of the shop and leaving him there very much alone.

Time had no meaning for him in this state. He could have been like that for moments or weeks, although it was probably closer to two hours before familiar energies crossed his awareness, approaching the back door. They were here.

He rose fluidly to his feet to cross back over to the counter where his traditional working robes lay waiting for him. He shrugged them on over his bare chest and trousers, buttoning the fastenings deftly as the back door opened and Ripper returned with a different group of women.

The three Summers women all wore various expressions of trepidation. Joyce looked nervous, uncertain as she instantly looked to him. The Slayer looked fierce, checking the room for changes that impeded the defendability of the room. The youngest had eyes as big as saucers as she took in all the macabre trappings that had transformed the familiar room into a sorcerer’s battleground.

Rupert was studying him calmly. “Are you ready?”

“Yes,” Ethan replied with calm certainty.

“All right.” He led the rest of them carefully past the painted form toward the door into the shop. “I’ll prepare the girls.”

Ethan took Joyce’s arm, drawing her aside as the others passed. “You stay with me. I’ll see to you.”

She looked surprised at how flat and uninflected his voice was, but she didn’t resist his hold. The Slayer glared back over her shoulder, but Rupert didn’t let her pause long, forcing her to continue through the connecting door, closing it behind her.

“Alone at last,” Joyce said softly, turning to him with a smile.

He ignored it. “You need to get undressed now. You bathed before you came?”

She looked a little hurt, but did as he commanded. “I did, with the soap you gave me.”

“Good.” He took her blouse and folded it neatly, setting it under the counter as she took off her skirt as well. He took that, noticing absently that she appeared to have bought new underthings for the occasion. Just simple plain white cotton, but new nonetheless. Under other circumstances, it would have made him smile. “No, leave them on,” he stopped her as she started to slip out of them. “They’re new, they won’t interfere. But bare feet, please.”

She stepped out of her low pumps to stand before him with a nervousness that had nothing to do with her state of dress.

He gathered up a pile of white silk and took her hand, guiding her into the center of the form. “Watch your step.” Turning her to face the east, he set the fabric down on the floor next to her. He felt her watching as he went back for the vial of oil. When he was standing in front of her again, he met her eyes for the first time. “Ready?”

The look he saw there was anxious but also full of trust. “Yes.”

He nodded and knelt in front of her, touching oil onto the tops of her feet as he changed softly, familiar words blessing and supplication. He moved up slowly, anointing her knees, the apex of her thighs, the soft curve below her stomach, her heart, her breasts, her throat, her eyes and her forehead. Finally he spilled the oil on his palms and placed them on top of her head. “The vessel is prepared. Let the working of my will be made manifest in her. So mote it be.”

She was slightly glassy eyed as he picked up the pile of fabric, which resolved itself into a white silk gown when held from the right seams, and helped her step into it, zipping the back. He was grateful he had judged her size right. The more comfortable she was, the better this would work.

“Should I pray or something?” she asked in quiet awe.

“I really wish you wouldn’t,” he replied humorlessly. “Any god you would pray to is certain not to get along well with mine, and that will only make things more difficult for me.”

“Is there anything I should do?”

“Not now. When the fight starts, you will need to protect the girl. No matter what happens, you will need to keep her inside this circle. Cassandra won’t be able to touch you once this is activated until I am dead. If I’m dead, then most likely Rupert and the Slayer are as well, in which case she will have no further call to harm you. So you stay put, do you understand?”

“I can’t just sit by while . . .”

“No, Joyce, you have to do this. The three of us need to know we don’t have to be defending you if we are to be able to fight without distraction. This battle will be like nothing Buffy has ever faced before. Even Rupert hasn’t seen anything quite like this. The magical duels he’s witnessed have been civilized things with rules and protocols, or ugly little street brawls. This is going to be mayhem on a grand scale. We all need to be focused, and we can’t do that if we’re worried about you. Do you understand?”

She nodded reluctantly. “I’ll keep Dawn in the circle.”

“That’s my girl.”

“Do I at least get a kiss?”

He almost smiled at that. “Focus, remember? Your kisses are decidedly too distracting. Ask me again when it’s over.”

“Be alive when it’s done and I will.”

He almost kissed her for that in spite of himself.

He was saved by the return of the others. Rupert ushered the girls in, now appropriately garbed for the ritual. The little girl wore a white robe, while Rupert and the Slayer each wore loose white trousers and white tunics. Each wore a tabard over their clothes that reached almost to the floor front and back, the girl’s in silver, the Slayer’s in red and Rupert’s in yellow. The Slayer’s was belted down with a scabbard and a number of small daggers. Geburah made manifest. They all looked tense.

“You’ve warned them what to expect?” Ethan asked Rupert matter of factly.

Rupert nodded. “They’re ready.”

“All right then.” He addressed the girls for the first time. “Remember, for the working you don’t need do anything but be present. Just relax and don’t fight me. It may feel a bit strange, but nothing I do will hurt any of you. During the ritual, we’ll pass a goblet of wine. You, take no more than a mouthful,” he indicated the Slayer before turning to the other girl. “And you take only the barest sips.”

“I can handle a little wine,” she replied sulkily.

“And how are you at controlling hallucinogenic states?” She pulled back in surprise. “This isn’t normal wine, little girl. Do as you’re told.”

“And what about me?” Rupert asked deferentially.

In other circumstances, Ethan would have found his submission discomforting. Now, though, he accepted it as a given. “Take as much as you need without incapacitating yourself for the fight. I need you to help me see what belongs and what is Cassandra.”

Rupert nodded.

“When the fight starts,” Ethan went on, directed now to both Ripper and the Slayer, “you’ll be able to come and go freely. The hair and blood Rupert took from all of us earlier is in the paint on the floor, so the wards will recognize us and won’t react. But if anything else crosses those glyphs, get away from it or else you’ll be caught in the backlash. And you,” he turned his attention to the youngest Summers. “Do what your mother tells you. Heroics will only get you killed. I need to know where you are every minute.”

She crossed her arms defensively. “I don’t even know why I’m here, if I don’t get to do anything.”

“You want your mother well, don’t you?” he snapped. “You’re here because I need you here.” And because you are Joyce’s last chance of escape if we fail.

Rupert touched the girl’s arm lightly. “He’s going to use you and Buffy as a sort of map to your mother. If he sees something that doesn’t look right, he will compare it to the two of you before he removes it.”

“So why can’t I have any of the wine?”

“Because one of the ingredients can be very poisonous in the wrong doses. He needs you to have just enough to be receptive. You don’t need to be able to see on your own for this.”

“And it would help if you weren’t dead. Really, Rupert,” Ethan’s impatience finally got the best of him, “must you play the teacher all the time?”

He shrugged, not looking the least bit apologetic. “It’s my idiom.”

“Can we just get on with this?”

“Feeling nervous?”

“No, feeling vengeful. I want to get that bitch here so I can wring her scrawny neck myself.”

Buffy nodded. “I’ve been having a lot of days like that myself lately.”

“Well, let’s end this one with some satisfaction, shall we? Places, people.”

Rupert escorted the little girl to the element glyph in the west before continuing around the circle to the north. Ethan indicated that Buffy should take the station in the south as he himself took the east. Joyce remained in the center, facing him. He reached behind him for the wine, now filtered and decanted into a black glass goblet. He saluted the circle with it, then took a deep drink before taking the few steps to hand it to the Slayer. She looked at him suspiciously as he returned to his position, but she repeated the salute and drank shallowly from the cup before carrying it to Dawn. He heard her murmur something and heard the girl protest, “I _know_.” She waited until her sister had returned to her station before she, too, mimicked the salute and sipped daintily from the cup. She continued around the circle to offer it to Rupert, who accepted it with a soft smile. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, and Ethan could feel the familiar rush and flow of energy. Ripper may not play with the magics anymore, but Rupert hadn’t let all his skill with it go lax. He would be able to support and feed Ethan as they went. Drinking deeply as well, he brought the goblet full circle to press it into Ethan’s hands with a nod. Ethan then stepped forward to offer the cup to Joyce.

“How much?” she asked, accepting the chalice from him.

“As much as you can stomach.”

She nodded, closing her eyes in copy of Rupert as she made her salute, although Ethan could feel her fighting down a prayer as she did so. Then she tilted the cup and drank three long swallows without flinching. She licked her lips slightly as she handed it back to him.

Ethan returned the goblet to the counter, then returned to his position, turning to face outward with his hands upraised. “Watchtower of the East, creature of my intellect, I command your presence in this circle.” He felt the familiar inrush of energy into the glyph, felt the guardian spirit become present all around him, creating its identity from his own intellect. When it was fully present, he stepped forward out of it. “Guard and hold, responding to my charge alone. Thus I command you.”

The energy coalesced into a liquid pillar of blue, rippling and writhing against the shape he had bound it into, but solid and receptive to his will. He acknowledged it and moved on.

Standing in front of the Slayer, he raised his hands again, his voice as confident, as implacable. “Watchtower of the South, creature of my will, I command your presence in this circle.” Red fire whipped up around her, filling the glyph and surprising her. It drew on her will, her drive and focus and quickly took shape. As it fully suffused her, he reached forward and took her hands, drawing her out of it before sealing it to his will, a coruscating pillar of fire bound tightly by the glyph.

The little girl’s eyes were enormous again when he got to her. Detachedly he realized she must be seeing more than he’d expected. Her mystical origins must make her more sensitive to magic around her. “Watchtower of the West, creature of my emotion, I command your presence in this circle.” The child gasped at the chill rush of energy that flowed over her, glistening the silver of sea foam. As a teenager, she had more than enough emotion to give it shape, but she had a good heart and that predominated. The rush slowed, and he drew her out of the column. She watched in fascination as he sealed it, but held her position as he moved on.

Rupert was already preparing himself. Ethan could feel the sense of solidity and reliability leaking into the glyph. “Watchtower of the North, creature of my body, I command your presence in this circle.” He almost stepped back from the force of the inrush of energy, everything that was stability and foundation and growth spilling into Rupert’s presence. And with it came the realization that _this_ was what drew Ethan back to Rupert now, in spite of everything. He offered Ethan stability that he found nowhere else in his life. For both he and Joyce, Rupert offered security, solidity. Something Ethan had never realized he’d wanted until he felt it so clearly now.

He was startled out of the shock of realization as Rupert stepped out of the column. Shaking it off, Ethan refocused and sealed the energy into a rippling gold pillar, solid and unshakeable. Ethan breathed deeply and returned to his position.

“ _Quis eram , quis est , quis est etiamnunc futurus , totus es tendo huic orbis , quod totus es thema ut meus vox. Is ego to order_. What was, what is, what is yet to be, all are present in this circle, and all are subject to my word. This I command.” With that he poured energy into the white lines on the floor. They glowed incandescent, then shot up in rainbow walls of light before subsiding like some energetic water fountain. The energy of the circle, however, connected to the element glyphs, starting in the east and racing around the circle to join south, west and north in a ring of iridescence that spun around them, becoming translucent. Ethan slammed his hands together in a thunderous clap and the energy shot up, creating a dome over them that sealed before becoming transparent. But he could still feel its presence, solid and strong as steel. Nothing would be coming through that.

He relaxed a little at that. The set up was often the hardest part, and tonight it was so critical to get it perfect. But he could feel the whole form quivering with preparation for action. He didn’t need to worry about it again until it was time to put it in operation.

He stepped forward to Joyce, looking so delicate and young in her virginal robes. “Are you ready?”

She nodded, trusting. “I’m ready.”

“Than lay down.” He held her hand and helped her to the floor, slipping a white silk pillow under her head. He knelt to the left of her head while Rupert knelt to her right. The girls did the same at her feet, the Slayer to the left and the child to the right. Ethan took the spherical jar and placed it on the floor just above Joyce’s head, removing the cork stopper. “This won’t hurt,” he explained to her in a gentle voice, “but you might feel a bit of tugging. Rupert is going to watch to keep me from making any mistakes.” He squeezed her hand comfortingly. “So just close your eyes and relax. It will all be over before you know it.”

She did as he asked without question.

The surface layers were easy. She was covered in a fine cobweb of energy that he drew off like candyfloss tangled around his fingers to wipe off into the jar. He cleared her whole body this way, slowly and methodically pulling off the second skin to reveal her aura clear and bright for the first time in months. Then he began to look deeper. The sigil on her forehead glowed a bright, sickly green, but he left that for the moment. He could follow cords of it down into her anatomical systems, though, where they twisted around her heart, her lungs, her spine, her womb, all different dark, sickly shades of ochre and grey, green and yellow. He carefully unwound these, wrapping their mystical energy around his hands as he unwove each threat, depositing each in the jar as he snipped them off near her throat so as not to disturb the sigil. One dark black line banded around her heart, threading down through her womb and to the sensitive portions of her sex, delicate threads emanating out to infest every part of her without any clear sign of origin. He started to reach for it, but Rupert stopped his hand. “Not that one. That one is hers.”

“What is it?”

There was an edge of fury to Rupert’s expression, which flamed red in Ethan’s enhanced senses. “The girls’ father.”

Ethan looked back at the dark cording, tightly bound in so many parts of her, and felt Rupert’s rage as his own. When he glanced at the Slayer and her sister, for the first time he saw similar bonds twisted around their own hearts, extending into their minds, into their spirits, not as dark as those that held Joyce but corruptive nonetheless. “I can fix it,” he insisted fiercely.

“No,” Rupert replied, calm yet forceful. “It’s theirs. They need to deal with it themselves.”

“Have I mentioned lately how much I hate your ethics?”

“One fight at a time.”

Ethan glared at Rupert but returned to his work. The fine threads that remained took time and patience to unravel. He looked more often to the Slayer and the girl for clarification now, sorting through the web of energy that controlled the functions of Joyce’s body. For being present a bare four months, the infiltration was deep. Every organ had some evidence of the invasion, but he diligently removed every strand.

Finally, he was certain he had gotten all of it. He turned to Rupert. “Well?”

Rupert studied her just as critically. After a long while, he said, “Yes, I think that’s all of it.”

Ethan blew out a restrained breath that was echoed by the two girls. “Are we ready to ring the doorbell, then?”

Rupert and the Slayer locked eyes, exchanging a look that years of working together had developed into communication.

“Do it,” the Slayer responded.

Ethan laid a hand on Joyce’s shoulder. She opened her eyes which were now glazed with the wine and the purging. “We’re almost done now, my dear. I’m going to cut the power to that sigil now. You may feel a pop or a snap inside your head, but it’s nothing to worry about. Things may start happening fairly quickly when I do. Will you be ready?”

She closed her eyes again and drew a deep, cleansing breath before nodding. “I’ll be ready.”

“Good girl.” He looked to the others. “Ready?”

They all nodded.

He summoned up red energy, sharp and focused will, and shaped it around his hand like a blade. With a last glance at his companions, he brought his hand down, severing the slender thread feeding energy to the sigil from wherever Cassandra was hiding. The remnants of the severed cords all writhed like wild tentacles at suddenly being deprived of sustenance. The mark flared, then slowly faded to emerald, to forest green and then to black before it shriveled and disappeared entirely.

All was quiet.

“Is that it?” the girl asked in hushed tones.

“Now, we wait.” Ethan helped Joyce sit back up slowly. “It’s up to her now.”

The Slayer took Joyce’s hand gently. “How do you feel?”

Joyce thought about that for a moment. “Light.” She put a hand to her head then. “And just a little bit dizzy.”

“That’s a side effect of the wine,” Ethan said comfortingly, caressing her back. “It will wear off in a little while.”

“I’m seriously put out with you, Rupert.”

The new voice captured everyone’s attention.

Cassandra had arrived.

And she wasn’t alone.


	11. While All The Women Came And Went

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The battle is joined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Picks up where I Can’t Get No Relief left off.

“We had a perfectly equitable arrangement.” Joyce watched, unable yet to rise form her seat on the floor, as Buffy, Rupert and Ethan all stood to face the woman confronting them.

Cassandra Jameson was still conservatively dressed, still wore a bare minimum of makeup, still had pretty but not engaging features. But something about her had changed. She carried presence around her like a cloak, the power she wielded now obvious to anyone who looked at her. _This_ woman Joyce would not have forgotten.

The four demons with her didn’t hurt in that regard.

“It wasn’t difficult to understand, was it, Rupert? You get what you want, I get what I want, everyone walks away happy.”

“Somehow I don’t think Buffy would see it that way,” Rupert replied coldly.

“You say that like it matters. She’s the Chosen One. All choices ended for her the moment she was called.”

“Funny how that doesn’t keep me from having to choose,” Buffy said snidely.

“If you accepted your destiny the way you should, you wouldn’t have to. All those choices would have been made for you.”

“By someone like you, I suppose?”

Cassandra studied Buffy critically. “You know, the Council didn’t think much of you when you were called. No one expected you to last long, judging from Merrick’s early reports on you. No early training, no discipline. Dead within the year was the consensus. So they sent you the Council royalty’s degenerate son as a Watcher and started looking for the next girl. They would have a real Slayer and be free of the burden of a Watcher no one trusted but couldn’t politically be gotten rid of. Do you know what he is, Slayer? What your trusted advisor is capable of?”

“You probably don’t want to go there,” Dawn interjected. “You’re only going to tick her off.”

Cassandra turned to her in surprise. “Who are you?”

Dawn’s face darkened. “I would be the sister. Not that anyone ever notices.”

The sorceress studied her a moment longer. “No, no you’re not. You’re. . .”

Rupert stepped out of the circle to pull down an axe, interrupting Cassandra’s flow of thought. “You can’t have them. Any of them.”

“Oh, how sweet. The knight protector. Such nobility doesn’t suit you. I know you better than that.”

Joyce found she couldn’t stay quiet any longer. “I really don’t think you do. Not anymore.”

Cassandra shook her head. “Poor, deluded Joyce. Congratulations on surviving the surgery. It’s a pity you won’t have long to enjoy your health.” Joyce felt something reach out and touch her, trying to gain purchase. Instead it just slipped away, unable to find hold. Cassandra’s eyes widened in surprise, and then narrowed again. “What is this? Rupert’s not capable of breaking the bindings I laid . . .”

“No, but I am.”

Ethan finally made his presence known.

Not that he had been hiding. He had stood next to Joyce the entire time. But somehow he had made himself less noticeable, waiting for his moment.

He seemed to have chosen well. “You!” Cassandra’s voice was thick with disbelief. “That’s not possible. I would have known . . .”

“I think you were a little bit overly focused on Rupert, my dear. Allow me to broaden your perspective.” And with that he raised his had. “ _Incursio_!”

Joyce jumped when a column of black force rushed out of Ethan’s palm to smash into Cassandra, knocking her off her feet and into the wall. She fell to her knees, rage filling her face. “Attack!” she screamed, flinging out her own hand.

Two things happened. First, the demons charged forward, reaching out with claws and fists. But before they could even reach the first white lines, Buffy and Rupert were on them, sword and axe flashing as they held the demons back.

Second, a burst of white light shot from Cassandra’s fist to race towards Ethan. He just watched it come, and Joyce thought he was going to let it hit him when, at the last instant, he raised his hand to knock it negligently aside. “Is that the best you can do?” He lashed out with strands of fire that tangled around Cassandra’s wrist and throat.

With her free hand, she reached up and grabbed hold of the lash, sending a crackle of electricity back along it. This Ethan couldn’t stop, and the force of it knocked him over.

Joyce grabbed Dawn’s hand and pulled her down next to her, watching the chaos around her in awe. Buffy had already sliced open one of her attackers and was focusing on the second. Rupert was having a more difficult time of it, though, and one had managed to get behind him.

“Rupert!” Joyce cried out in warning, but it was Buffy who responded. Spinning into a roundhouse kick, she whipped a knife out of her belt, releasing it just as her foot connected with her own attacker. The knife sank deep into the ear canal of the creature coming up behind Rupert, while the one she kicked stumbled backwards over one of the emblems on the floor. The whit paint instantly glowed, and a column of fire erupted from it, incinerating the creature instantly.

It was then Joyce noticed that the two Buffy had already killed had sunk to the ground and melted into a puddle of green ooze, the same stuff the Fyarl behind the club in London had become. These creatures weren’t real. They were constructs on Cassandra’s part. She had that much power that she could create all these? Joyce began to worry.

Ethan staggered to his feet, but Cassandra was already acting. “Imprison!” she cried, grasping a fist in Ethan’s direction. He froze, arms locked in place and slowly began to rise off the floor. She turned her head aside to Buffy and Rupert, gesturing with her other hand. “Summon.”

And suddenly, pop, pop, pop, the dead demons were replaced with new ones, this time armed with long, wicked daggers of their own.

The distraction was what Ethan needed. “ _Dilato_!” he shouted, flexing his arms. Whatever held him seemed to lose its grip, and he slipped back to the floor, lashing out with another bolt of force that lanced off her as the second wave of demons attacked.

Joyce had never watched her daughter in action before, and was amazed at her abilities. She was quick and dexterous, never still a moment she didn’t have to be. She was working two handed now, the sword in one hand and a dagger in the other, the panels of the tabard flaring around her as she fought. Rupert was more solid, moved less, held his ground more, using the handle and flat of the long axe in his hand as much as the edge. He grabbed one of the creatures by its vest and pulled it forward, stepping aside so that it plunged directly at the circle Joyce and Dawn were crouched in. They screamed in unison, but before it could reach them, it was seized by energy emanating from one of the glyphs it crossed and quickly decayed into dust in front of them.

Ethan and Cassandra continued to lay waste to each other. Joyce had the uncomfortable feeling Cassandra was winning. The woman looked smug, confident while Ethan seemed to be flagging. Cassandra had the advantage of not coming into this fight drained from a major working. Ethan was starting tired, his energy depleted.

Suddenly his words from the other day came back to her. “I need you angry. I need you ready to fight. I can use that when it comes time to fight her.” Joyce closed her eyes, called up all the fear, the anger, the frustration she had lived with these past few months, the suffering her family, her lovers had endured, all caused by this woman. She let that fill her. And then she gave it to him.

If the surge of power surprised him, he didn’t show it, just lashed out again with those whips of force.

“The jar,” Joyce heard in her head. “Throw it at her.”

She turned and saw the spherical jar, half full of grey, glowing powder, sitting on the floor behind her. She grabbed it and lobbed it side arm towards Cassandra.

Ethan’s hand extended, mimicking the side arm throw to carry it all the way to the sorceress, casting the dust as it went. “ _Pulsus_ ,” he said easily, and a light breeze came up in the room, carrying the powder to envelop her in a translucent cloud, destroying her visibility.

“You think this will stop me?” she derided. “A little dust in my eyes won’t help you.”

“That depends on the dust. Cold iron and rowan breaks all magics. And this knows you. Everything you put in Joyce I fed to it, so it knows your energy. Your powers are dead, woman. Mine, however, are unaffected.”

With that he raised his hands over his head. “ _Impero levitas adveho quod flagello orbis terrarium_!” he cried out. A disk of purple light appeared under her feet, spread out and quickly contracted. And suddenly lightning sheeted through the ceiling, leaving the structure undamaged as it channeled straight through Cassandra’s fragile human flesh.

Her scream of agony was unlike anything Joyce had ever heard. The room filled with acrid smoke that obscured everything but the sound of her screams and the smell of scorched meat. There was a wet, gurgling slap, followed by the sound of several water balloons popping.

Then it was silent.

Slowly the air cleared to reveal Buffy and Rupert, still armed, waiting for their attackers who never came. Ethan was collapsed on the floor, sucking in deep lungsful of air as though he had run a marathon. Near Rupert and Buffy were seven puddles of dripping green slime.

And at the front of the room were the charred remains of Cassandra Jameson.

Joyce turned Dawn’s head away, holding her close as much for her own comfort as for her daughter’s.

Ethan drew a shuddering breath and murmured, “ _Sic ego occupo, sic is est conor. Finite_.” The lines on the floor glowed brightly and then faded out, leaving not even the remnants of paint on the floor.

Joyce went to him first, as he was down, but when he waved her away, she moved on to Buffy. Buffy had scratches on one cheek that were bleeding profusely, and she was favoring one arm. “Are you okay?” Joyce asked in concern as she looked her daughter over.

“I’m fine,” she said, her voice tired. “Nothing a few days won’t fix. How’s Giles?”

Rupert had sunk to the floor, one tattered white pant leg soaked crimson with blood. “It’s going to need stitches,” he observed weakly as Joyce used his tabard to apply pressure to the wound. “But it missed the femoral artery.”

“Dawn,” Joyce turned to her daughter, “go call 911.”

Without argument, Dawn raced out into the shop to make the call.

Ethan staggered over to the smoldering remains, nudging them lightly with his foot.

“You weren’t supposed to kill her,” Rupert commented critically.

Ethan didn’t look at him. “I did what I had to do. She’s not a threat anymore.”

Rupert didn’t look happy, but he subsided. Buffy took off her tabard and laid it over the body. “Do we call the morgue?”

“We’ll have to,” Rupert agreed. “But not while she’s here. We’d never be able to explain it. We’ll have to move her first.”

“I’ll arrange it,” Ethan stated.

“It’s not like you to clean up your own messes.”

“Don’t push me tonight, Ripper,” Ethan snarled.

“Please,” Joyce interrupted. “No more fighting tonight.

They both dropped their heads, properly chastened.

Sirens sounded in the distance, drawing closer. “Someone help move me out front,” Rupert asked. “We don’t want the paramedics to see that.”

Joyce and Buffy helped him to his feet, but Buffy was the one to guide him to the door. She paused as they passed Ethan, who stood studying the yellow shrouded remains pensively. “Thank you,” she said quietly, not quite looking at him.

“You’re welcome,” he responded in kind, never moving his eyes.

Somehow satisfied, Buffy moved on.

When they were alone, Joyce moved over to lay a hand on his arm. “You did what you had to do.”

“I know that.” But his tone was resigned.

“Ethan?”

“Yes?”

“Will you kiss me now?”

He looked at her in surprise at that.

“You said I could ask.”

“I . . . I had forgotten.” He reached out to touch her arm uncertainly, letting his fingers drag down to capture her hand.

She stepped closer, curling her fingers into the nape of his neck as she pulled him closer. “I hadn’t,” she said comfortingly before gently pressing her mouth to his.

He was passive at first, but as she held him close and gently caressed his mouth with hers he began to respond, pulling her tight against him as he deepened the kiss, drawing life from her mouth. She let him, fed him with soft sighs and gentle touches as he ran his hands over her, assuring himself that she was whole, or real, or something only he understood. She reveled in the attention after too many weeks without it. But finally he pulled away, his dark eyes soft for the first time all evening. “I did what I had to do,” he repeated.

She stroked his cheek soothingly. “I know. I’m not happy about it, but I understand. And Rupert will come around. Just give him a little time.”

“Perhaps.”

She held him closer, enjoying the press of their bodies together. “You’re a hero, Ethan. You beat the bad guy.”

“I’m no hero,” he denied flatly.

She patted his chest affectionately. “You keep telling yourself that. Come on,” she took his hand and drew him out of the room. “Let’s get Rupert to the hospital. Afterwards, I’ll help you with what you need to do. You did the right thing.”

“I know.”

But he kept glancing back over his shoulder towards the lifeless body he created.


	12. The Thief He Kindly Spoke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place in the days after As The Women Came and Went. Dialogue referenced is from the episode Triangle by Jane Espenson.

Joyce made her way slowly up the stairs, Buffy’s outfit from the night before folded neatly in one hand. She and the girls had all slept the majority of the day, getting up in time to order in Chinese food for a late lunch/early dinner. None of them had been terribly inspired to do anything, so they had all curled up on the couch, the girls on either side of her, finally settling on the last half of a Ginger Rogers/Fred Astaire movie in lieu of all the home repair, true crime and World War II shows populating the dial. Afterwards the girls disappeared back upstairs, while Joyce was seized with the need to salvage Buffy’s costume from the blood stains mottling it. She tried not to think about the fact that most of those stains were Rupert’s blood. He was fine. Now. When she considered what they all had risked for her . . .

She paused at the top of the stairs to catch her breath. She still tired easily, although she did feel better than she had yesterday. It was amazing what getting rid of the thing sucking the life out of her had done for her energy.

“I’m not going to discuss Mom’s sex life with you!” Buffy’s voice said from her bedroom.

“It’s because you don’t like him, isn’t it?” Dawn’s voice cajoled her. “C’mon, she’s done a lot worse. At least this time she knows what she’s getting into. And Ethan seems to really care about her.”

“What do you know about it? And don’t call him that.”

“What, his name? He told me I could. Besides, you do.”

“Don’t say it like you like him.”

“I do like him. He doesn’t talk down to me and stuff. And he’s kind of exciting. Dangerous.”

“Dangerous!” Buffy seized on the word. “Exactly! Mom doesn’t need dangerous. She needs safe. Dependable.”

“Which she has Giles for,” Dawn said rationally.

Joyce leaned against the wall outside Buffy’s door, fascinated by her daughters’ examination of her psyche.

“Could you get out of my room, please?”

“Oh, come on, it’s romantic!”

“Dawn, it’s _Giles_!”

“I know. He and Mom have been crazy about each other for forever. Or hadn’t you noticed?”

Joyce heard magazine pages turning. “That was just the band candy.”

“This is before the band candy. The first time they met, did you know he spent two hours next to her hospital bed when you were chasing after Angel?”

“He was just looking after her for me.” But Buffy’s tone was less certain.

“Uh-huh. Which is why he kept watching her like he didn’t just been hit with a two by four. And she just couldn’t stop talking. You know how she gets, kind of like Willow, when she’s nervous?”

There was a long silence.

“And then when you were in LA that summer, he was over here a lot, trying to make Mom feel better. One time, I remember I was sitting on the stairs and she said something. I don’t remember what, but he just looked so hurt. I felt really bad for him.”

“See? That’s where you’re wrong. He totally had a thing for Miss Calendar. She was dead and he was sad. Why would he even think about Mom?”

“Duh. You’ve never been interested in more than one person at a time?” Dawn was quiet for a moment. “Why don’t you want to believe this?”

The silence was longer this time. Joyce waited with bated breath, almost afraid of the answer.

“Because Giles was mine.”

“You wanted to sleep with Giles? Ew! That’s just so wrong!”

“No! And ew! But . . . I was always the one important to him, you know? It was his job to look out for me. And then it wasn’t, but he did it anyway.”

“Boy, you really are self-involved, aren’t you?”

Buffy’s confiding tone was gone. “You’re still here why?”

Dawn didn’t let her off the hook. “Giles takes care of all of us, Buffy. Willow and Xander and me, Tara, Anya, even Cordy and Oz when they were around. It’s what he does. He’s not going to stop just because he’s gotten involved with Mom. And he’s going to protect her from Ethan, too, so you can stop worrying.”

“I’m not . . . it’s not that. It’s . . . Never mind.”

“No, come on, what?”

This time Joyce didn’t think Buffy was ever going to speak. She wanted to go in and comfort her daughter, but knew Buffy well enough to know that her eavesdropping wouldn’t be appreciated.

“It’s just,” Buffy finally started hesitantly. “I love Mom, and she’s beautiful and great and all that. But she’s . . .”

“Old?” Dawn finally filled in.

Joyce raised her eyebrows at the slight, not that she wasn’t used to it.

“I guess,” Buffy acknowledged begrudgingly. “And if she can get two boyfriends at once, what’s wrong with me that I can’t keep any?”

Joyce’s heart clenched at the pain in Buffy’s voice. She heard bedsprings squeak and muffled sobs.

“Why didn’t he want to stay with me?” Buffy wept into her sister’s shoulder. “Why didn’t he love me more?”

Joyce slipped away silently. Her presence wouldn’t be a comfort now.

 

 

“Yes, thank you, Lieutenant. I’ll finalize the arrangements. Good day.”

Giles hung up the phone and turned back to Ethan and Buffy. “Well, that’s that. The police have released Cassandra’s body for return to England. As her colleague, I’m to escort the remains.”

“Good riddance to bad rubbish,” Ethan said snidely.

“Ethan,” Giles sighed. “Please. You sound like my mother.”

“I could correct that, but there are impressionable young minds present.”

Giles took in Buffy’s dark look and wisely turned the conversation back to her. “This trip will give me an opportunity to make use of Council resources to see what they know about Glory.”

“I don’t like this, Giles. I don’t like having them anywhere near this.”

Giles leaned heavily on his cane as he came around the counter to stand closer to her, lowering his voice. “I’m sorry, but we’ve really exhausted the materials I have here, and we’re coming up empty.”

“Isn’t there any other option?”

“Not really,” he said sympathetically. “The Council has the best collection on these things, and their researchers are top flight. If there’s anything to be found, they will find it.”

She looked doubtful. “Glory’s all you’re going to talk to them about, right?”

He nodded, looking about them cautiously. “I’m not going to mention Dawn’s name,” he lowered his pitch. “I wouldn’t do that, I promise.”

“But you’re going to tell them about the key? That Glory’s looking for something called the key?”

He shrugged apologetically. “Knowing her goal is crucial. If it helps them uncover her origins . . .”

It was her turn to sigh. “I know. It’s just I trust these Watchers about as far as you could throw them.”

Giles smiled. “Thank you very much.”

She leaned against the counter, crossing her arms over her chest in frustration. “You know what I mean. They’ve found so many different ways to screw us in the past. I’m just freaked about the idea of giving them any information that could possibly lead them to Dawn.”

“In your favor,” Ethan contributed uncharacteristically, “you are going to them from a position of power. A rogue Watcher attacked the Slayer and endangered innocents right under the Council’s nose. That should give you a certain amount of leverage to get the information you need without having to give too much in return.”

Buffy glared at him fiercely, then walked away without a word.

Ethan watched her go, then turned to Giles. “I think she’s warming up to me.”

Giles looked at him doubtfully.

“She didn’t hit me for a change. I’d consider that an improvement.”

“You’re going to need to keep an eye on them while I’m away. They tend to find trouble when I’m not around.”

“Now who sounds like your mother?” But his tone quickly turned more serious. “I’ll do what I can. But that fight took a lot out of me. It’s going to be a while before I can do much more than parlor tricks.”

“Hopefully it won’t come to that. I’ll only be gone a few days.”

“A lot can happen in three days.”

“Believe me, I am well aware of that.” He hesitated before turning to look Ethan in the eye. “Thank you. For everything you did the other night. While I may not approve the final results, I can’t fault you for your efforts. You saved Joyce. You probably saved us all. Thank you.”

Ethan’s brow furrowed in some dark emotion Giles couldn’t name. “Gratitude doesn’t suit us, Ripper. You know I only did it for my own purposes.”

Giles sighed. “Yes, Ethan, I know how unprincipled a bastard you are. You still did the right thing. We’ll work on your motivations later.”

“Are you trying to save me now, too?”

Giles grinned. “Well, Joyce has been preoccupied lately.”

He was surprised when Ethan didn’t jibe in return. “We almost lost her, Ripper,” he said solemnly.

Giles gripped Ethan’s shoulder. “But we didn’t. Not this time.”

"I shouldn't care this much," he said quietly, watching Buffy chatting with Willow and Tara. "Nothing good can come of it."

"Ethan . . ."

He didn't allow Giles to finish, simply turned and walked out of the shop without looking back.

Giles knew he should follow him. This was all uncharted ground for Ethan. But Giles’ injury and his own uncertainty kept him standing where he was, wondering just how much more Ethan could take without breaking.


End file.
